


After The Storm

by sar_kaz_m



Series: LOTR Plot Fillers [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Plothole Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:51:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4141878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sar_kaz_m/pseuds/sar_kaz_m
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Movieverse gapfiller, FaramirEowyn. Sequel to Points of Precedence. How Faramir and Eowyn came together. [originally written Fall 2005]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Original Author's Notes: (Well, since everyone seemed to like my “Points of Precedence” fic so much, and in re-watching the EE of ROTK, I noticed there’s a heck of a lot more left out regarding Faramir than remotely acceptable, so I decided to do another round of My Version of What’s Missing! I've had to adjust some time frames. I do refer to “Points of Precedence” here, so it would be good if you’ve read that. Nothing is owned by me except that dancing pink Mumak identifying storyline holes…..)  
> New notes: I'm moving some stories (the better ones) from That Other Archive to AO3.

* * *

The gardens had become stunted by the perpetual gloom, but even that small bit of growing green soothed his heart.   Faramir son of Denethor, the twenty-seventh Steward of Gondor, stood in the small open-air atrium, his gaze turned ever eastward.   Yesterday, the assembled hosts of the West marched out from Minas Tirith, intent on drawing the hordes of evil in Mordor onto themselves, in order to ease the secret passage of two small Hobbits.   Faramir had done his best by his King, ordering the supplies and companies for the march, providing his King with the very best raiment the Citadel could provide.  Little did King Aragorn know he wore Boromir’s own spare chainmail, and Faramir’s leather dress surcote, along with the very best gloves and belts that could be found, and a cloak reclaimed from Denethor’s wardrobe.  The household of the King had fallen into such disrepair that few usable accoutrements remained.  Though their fate remained uncertain, Faramir already compiled a rough list of items to repair or resupply to the King’s House. 

 

The uncertainty of the future plagued the Steward.  He meant to honor his promise to his King, and comport himself with hope in his heart that the West would succeed, and that somehow one little Hobbit might win passage through the Black Land and destroy the Ring of Power.  And the part of him that did cling to hope ran rampant with optimism at times, planning the reconstruction of the City and the restoration of Gondor.  The rest of him worried constantly, worried that the King would fall, that Frodo would fail, that he himself would be left to spend the last days desperately and hopelessly defending the shattered remnants of Gondor.  Not for his own life he worried, but for the people, the history, the beauty that would perish before Sauron’s malice.

 

He shifted and raised his right arm to lean against a pillar.  He still held his left arm bound close against his body, the shoulder yet tender from the orcish arrow that had pierced him.   The other wound in his right side ached as he raised that arm, but he ignored the pain, trying to take some small comfort from the wind and the open vista before him.  His eyes were inexorably drawn to the dark menacing clouds reaching out from Mordor, and he firmly suppressed a shiver at the thought of his King and countrymen riding into that danger.

 

Just as he thought to concede that the outdoors did no better for his mood than indoors, a sudden movement to his right caught his attention.   In a window nearby appeared a woman. Her very presence struck Faramir more sharply than any arrow of any foe.  It seemed to him that she shone with the brightness of the missing sun. Light formed the gold of her hair and the whiteness of her face.   He straightened in surprise, dropping his arm.  That small movement must have caught her attention, for she turned suddenly to look at him.

 

Her face shone as pale and cold as marble.  Her expression seemed both bold and serious, pride and despair and defiance warring in her countenance.  Despite himself he stiffened a little at her chill regard, but the pleasure of seeing one so beautiful filled him, and he could not keep back a tiny smile, fleeting though it was.

 

She made no acknowledgement of his gaze or his smile, her face as still as the grave.  Then, as if dismissing him, she turned back to the East, to stare after the hosts and towards the face of evil. 

 

Faramir admired not only her beauty, but also her defiance, and her somber bravery, facing unafraid that which many would ignore and hide from.   He guessed that she must be Rohirrim; the gold of her hair proclaimed she was no daughter of Numenor.  Could it be that a Shieldmaiden of Rohan rode once more? 

 

* * *

 

 

Eowyn could not rest.  She would lay her body down, and close her eyes, and even sleep a time, but rest with all its attendant restoration eluded her.   She had bidden farewell to her brother, only after he had convinced her to stay in this towering white city, so strange and foreign.  Carefully Eowyn had avoided Aragorn, already hailed as King of Gondor.  She had ridden to death and glory, but found neither, only waking to find the one before whom she had so humiliated herself had become her savior.  Even Eomer’s thankful tears had not softened the hard and bitter knot within her breast. 

 

Her brother did not know of Theoden-King’s charge to her to keep the people of Rohan safe.  Eomer did not realize that by hiding her face and riding to war, Eowyn had defied the will of her King.  Eomer did not understand that she had abandoned their people.  He did not see the black despair that filled her even now, despair that she would return to Edoras and resume her place as cupbearer and housekeeper, never to stand free and earn respect for her own.  Despair over the moment when she finally dared to reach out to another person, to let that person see her true self, that person rebuffed her and refused her, and left her to her chains.

 

Stirring, Eowyn finally abandoned her attempt to rest and rose, careless of the fine white gown provided to her.  She looked about her room, indifferent to the things provided to her by the Houses, the clothes and combs and finery due a woman of her station, sister to a King.   Finally, she approached the window, staring out into the East and the foul skies over Mordor.

 

A movement in the corner of her eye caused her to turn.  She saw a man standing in the atrium near the Houses looking back at her, almost shadowed by the building.  Eowyn froze, unused to such unabashed examination.  He seemed tall, taller even than Eomer, but not as broad as her brother, though without the almost starved appearance that so characterized Lord Aragorn.  His hair appeared short, no longer than his shoulders, but thick, and a russet color darker than that of her own people, yet lighter than most she’d seen in this southern city.  She judged him a soldier, like her left behind by the hosts because of injury.  She noticed a bandage crossing his chest.  From his worn leather trews and his carelessly unlaced gambeson, she assumed he was a simple fellow, perhaps a minor officer, but certainly no one of great stature, since he carried himself so informally.  She could see he had a handsome face, though she ignored the eager expression, unwilling to initiate contact with any person.  She turned back to the East, uninterested in other people, though she felt his eyes upon her a bit longer.  Then someone approached him, calling him away, and she felt relieved of the burden of his regard.

 

Tomorrow, she decided, staring out at the blackness that approached.  Tomorrow she would try to garner some strength, and find some way to put to use this time of enforced waiting.

 

* * *

 

 

Faramir set down his pen* when he realized that all he’d scribed in the last hour were fragments of elvish poems and several tiny drawings of the Black Gate, Henneth Annun, and Minas Tirith.  Woolgathering, that was what he was doing.  Now that a second day passed since the hosts rode out, he found it even more difficult to concentrate.  Torn between hope with the attendant need for industry and the knowledge of the precariousness of their situation, Faramir chafed at the restrictions of the Houses of Healing.  He should have ridden out, he told himself.  Simply bandaged himself tight and mounted up, healer’s stitches be damned. 

 

Rising, he wandered to his window, but was met with a view of the sixth circle of the city.  Dissatisfied, he left his room to make for the outer atrium again.  There he could sit and stare towards Mordor, where all his thoughts were bent. 

 

And perhaps, he reminded himself quietly, he may get another glimpse of the fair lady who watched the East as he did.

 

He gained the open air and leaned against the column a moment, but surreptitious glances could not determine if the lady was in her room.  He did find it a bit odd that no one had brought her to his attention, or the reverse, since he was the ranking noble in the city.  Chiding himself for such arrogance, he deliberately turned his back on the window.  He knew he distracted himself with thoughts of the lady, a more pleasing subject than Mordor and the probable dark fate of all.   It was ungentlemanly of him to develop such an interest in a lady.

 

Just as Faramir scolded himself to behave better, a commotion from the Houses drew his attention.  He turned to find a glorious vision striding towards him.  The Lady of Rohan, dressed all in white, approached, a healer hovering nervously beside her.

 

“My lord!” stuttered the healer.  “This is Lady Eowyn of Rohan, sister to their King.”  The healer appeared terrified at having to conduct a proper introduction.  Healers had no need of social niceties.  “Lady, this is Lord Faramir, Steward of Gondor.”

 

Faramir could not suppress a slight wince.  He hated the title, only too aware he neither deserved nor wanted the rank.  Still, he bowed formally to the Lady.  He saw she bore her left arm in a sling, and slight bruising below her eyes told him she too neither healed nor rested easily.

 

“My lady,” he acknowledged softly as he bowed. 

 

* * *

 

 

Eowyn had demanded freedom of the Warden of the Houses and been flatly refused.  According to the healers, she must abide in the Houses another week at least, and her arm would be kept in a bandage for nearly two months.  Eowyn had haughtily informed the man that she doubted very much they had two months altogether left to live, and stormed out of the office. 

 

She managed to accost another healer, demanding to know who ruled in Minas Tirith.  Eowyn could not remember the name of the Lord of Gondor; that the man was of an age with Theoden-King was all she knew.  The healer told her the lord Denethor had died, and the new Lord of Gondor was now Lord Faramir, and that he resided in the Houses for healing as well.  Eowyn accordingly demanded to speak with him.  Perhaps this Lord Faramir could order her freedom.

 

In truth, she knew not what, nor whither she fled.  She could not ride out to join the armies; they marched now fully two days away.  She could not return alone to Edoras.  The ride held many dangers, and she feared her people’s condemnation for her disobedience to Theoden-King.  But she must do something; she could not sit in idleness waiting for the end of all things.

 

Led to the very garden she could see from her window, she was surprised to be presented to a relatively young man, appearing only a few years her senior.  Her surprise grew when she recognized him as the same disheveled officer who’d stared so boldly yesterday.  But he was not so disheveled now.  He wore a rich surcote over a dark shirt.  It was embroidered heavily with silver thread.  The cut was common to Gondor, but all the more recognizable as the garments of one of rank by the expensive fabric, no matter how simply designed.  He still wore a sling on his left arm, the same as she, and she saw in him the same weary frustration that filled her heart.   When the healer swiftly introduced them and fled, Eowyn noted the expression on the soldier’s face.  Clearly, he did not relish his rank.

 

She nodded acknowledgement of his bow, and said, “My lord, I hope that you might grant me a favor.”

 

His expression showed his polite interest.  “How might I assist you, my lady?”  His voice struck her as both deeper and softer than she had expected.

 

“With employment, my lord.  The healers would hold me here a sevenday yet.  I cannot sit idle for so long.”  Eowyn held her head high.

 

“My lady, I too am held captive.”  She thought she saw a slight smile cross his lips, a hint of intended humor.   “We must endure the waiting as best we can, though I confess, I find it a hardship as well.” 

 

Eowyn felt her hard determination falter in the face of his friendliness.   “You can think of no employment for me?”

 

Lord Faramir shook his head.  “Save for conversation, my lady.  Would you talk with me awhiles?”

 

Eowyn sighed to herself.  In her heart, she knew that the injured must take time to heal.  She had hoped – but at least here was one who knew the pain of waiting as well as she.

“I will, my lord, though I know not what you might find entertaining in the conversation of a rough shieldmaiden such as myself.”

 

His phantom smile crossed his face again.  “Tell me about your land and your life.  I had never thought to meet a beautiful and deadly Shieldmaiden of Rohan.”

 

Eowyn paused, surprised.  He said that with eager interest, almost delight.  Could it be this man of cultured and ancient Gondor actually approved of her, where her own people did not?  As she spoke with him, she swiftly revised her opinion formed the day before.  Clearly, Lord Faramir was not a rough and simple soldier.  He was educated and kind, and she sensed a sly humor and an honesty that she found comforting. 

 

* * *

 

 

Faramir listened to the Lady Eowyn’s description of Edoras and her childhood in the Golden Hall with rapt attention.    His admiration of her only increased as he encouraged her to speak of her home and the things she loved.  Her pleasure in the subject lent animation to her face.  Before long, he had her speaking of life in the Mark in detail.

 

She described riding through the plains, and the view of Edoras rising from the waves of yellow grass.  Faramir sighed, transported by her descriptions and her enthusiasm.

 

Misconstruing the sigh, she asked, “Are you wearied, my lord?  Or do I bore you?”

 

“Oh, no, my lady!  I am merely longing to ride the plains of the Mark myself, so well do you draw them with your words.” 

 

Her eyes narrowed.  “Do not tease, my lord.”

 

“I would not.  I know something of love for one’s homeland.”  Again, he could not help the irony in the statement, and to his relief, he saw she recognized it for what it was.

 

“Do you too ride over Gondor and view the White City with love?”  The Lady asked.

 

He indicated the view of the river, and the lands beyond.  “There, beyond the river Anduin is the province of Ithilien.  The whole of my career has been spent in her defense.  Every glade, every tree, is dear to me.  And still, when I ride west from there, my heart soars at the sight of Minas Tirith rising before me.”

 

To his gratification, Lady Eowyn’s eyes met his, and she nodded in agreement.  But then a shadow crossed her face, and she said, “Yet for all that pride, one may not find happiness within.”

 

Concerned, Faramir watched her face.  Did she know of his tumultuous relationship with his father?  He knew a certain amount was public knowledge, for he'd often clashed with Denethor in council, but for it to be known in Rohan?    But no, her thoughts were on her own past, memories swarming in her eyes that he could not decipher. 

 

“True, my lady,” he said softly, watching her face.  “For all the pride, there is often a price.” 

 

Her gaze rose to meet his, and an understanding passed between them.  Lady Eowyn began to speak again, but kept to general subjects.  They were so alike, Faramir thought.  Soon, the lady began to press Faramir for tales of Gondor, and he found himself relating much of Gondor's history as the day waned towards night.

 

When called to eat, Faramir offered his arm, though because she too was injured the lady could not accept it properly, but her small smile of acknowledgement warmed him greatly, and he accounted it a victory.  Meals in the Houses were communal, unless the healers restricted one to one’s bed, and many survivors of the Pelennor Fields partook of the evening meal there.   Both Faramir and Lady Eowyn accepted numerous greetings as they made their way to their seats.  Both occasionally pause to exchange a few words with other invalids.  Faramir noted the respect with which the Rohirrim men addressed Lady Eowyn.

 

It was at dinner when they finally laughed together, though weak and bitter laughter it was.  Each had only one good hand apiece, and so they shared duties, assisting one another with breaking bread and cutting meat.   At the end of the meal, Faramir accompanied the lady to her door.

 

“Thank you, my lord, for your company.  I did not think I would relish companionship, but I find it is good to … have made a friend.”  Lady Eowyn bestowed a shallow smile upon him.

 

“My lady, please do not be so formal with your friend.  Simply my name will suffice,” Faramir insisted.

 

“Very well, but you must do the same too,” she replied.

 

“As you wish.”  Faramir bowed, his hand over his heart.  “Good night, Eowyn.”

 

“Good night, Faramir.”  She shut the door behind her, leaving him alone in the hall.

 

Faramir lingered a moment, staring at the wood that separated them.  Never had he expected to meet a woman who so captured his heart.  Eowyn of Rohan was beautiful, yes, but beauty alone could only move him, not ensnare him.  Eowyn was also brave, and bold, intelligent and honest, true to her own heart in ways he could hardly understand.  What he would give to be so free!  Faramir had hardly dared to laugh for most of his adult life.  This woman carried her head high and bowed only to those most deserving.  How he admired her.

 

* * *

 

 

Eowyn rose early the next day, though with great weariness.  From her window, she could see the thick dark clouds of Mordor, the morning's light nearly smothered behind their black blanket.   A maid arrived and assisted Eowyn with her dress and hair.  Soon, she found herself again alone and without employment. 

 

But today, she reminded herself that whilst she sat alone in her room, she was not so alone in waiting and in anxiety.  She stood and made for the common rooms of the Houses, intending to find Lord Faramir and claim his company once more.

 

A different maid directed her to the lord's room.  As she approached, a very fat man exited the chamber.  "It shall be as you direct, my lord," he said through the door, and with a bow, hurried away.

 

Suddenly shy, Eowyn approached the door.   She could see Lord Faramir standing near a small desk, a number of papers scattered over the top, and over the bed.  He wore a similar surcote as the day before, and Eowyn could not help but pause and admire the noble figure he made.  Though she fancied her heart was hardened, she felt she could still acknowledge that a man was noble, honorable, and handsome.

 

Finally, she tapped lightly on the doorframe to draw his attention.

 

"Lady Eowyn!"  He bowed, and meeting her eyes, gave another swift smile.  She answered with one of her own, emboldened by his clear pleasure in her presence. 

 

"I come to offer my company again, my lord, if you would have it." 

 

"Gladly," he said, his eyes softening.  "But did I not beg you to forgo formality, my lady?"

 

"Faramir, then.  But you do address me formally, in spite of my request in turn."

 

"Alas, I find I cannot ignore courtesy in the presence of a lady."  Though his voice was even and polite, Eowyn recognized the subtle jesting by the spark in Faramir's eyes. 

 

"It is most simple.  Repeat after me -- Eowyn."

 

With another half-smile, Faramir obediently repeated, "Eowyn."

 

"There, you see?  I shall ask you again later, and we shall see how well you remember your lessons."

 

To her great delight, Faramir suddenly laughed.  It had a bright sound, and Eowyn marveled at how it transformed his face, lifting aside just for a moment the somber and ironic veil over Faramir's visage.  It was an honest laugh, unlike the rueful chuckles they had shared over dinner the night before, commiserating in their mutual inability to handle their meals, one-handed as they both were.  Somewhere under the burdens of duty and grief resided a merry young man, Eowyn thought.

 

She edged further into the room, asking, "What do you do here?"  She indicated the papers strewn about.

 

Faramir sighed, serious again.  "What we can.  Quite a bit of them are rolls of casualties.  Damage reports.  Lists of supplies.  We were fortunate -- the city was not prepared for a siege."  His voice took on a touch of frustration.  "My father had all this information, and did nothing!  Had the Rohirrim not ridden to our rescue, Minas Tirith would have most certainly fallen."  He met her gaze, and the admiration and gratitude she read there made her feel ashamed.

 

He must have read her disquiet in her face, for he paused, then gently said, "My lady?"

 

She shook her head, unwilling to discuss her feelings.  “It has been three days.  Could they not have arrived?”  Eowyn asked to change the subject.

 

Faramir pulled out a map of Gondor and spread it before them on the table.  “Here is Minas Tirith.”  His finger traced a pathway to the river.  “Osgiliath lies but a few hours march, which they’ll go at an even pace, since not all the troops could be mounted.   They’d planned to use the enemy’s own wooden bridges against them, crossing there.   From Osgiliath to the Crossroads is a full day’s march, and from there to the Black Gate, perhaps another day and a half, maybe less if they are not harried by forces of the enemy.”  He spoke to her as one commander to another, with respect for her knowledge and experience of things military.  “My lord Aragorn had planned to take things slow, lest they come to the Black Gate tired and unprepared.”   He paused.  “Tomorrow, I believe; they will reach the Gate tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

 

Faramir would not insult the Lady Eowyn by hiding or softening the truth.  Should all plans fail, the situation would be grim indeed.  Her brother, his uncle, and his king, all could fall.  The halfling Frodo could be captured, and the Ring reclaimed by Sauron.  If the worst came to pass, Minas Tirith would have to be abandoned.  Already Faramir had given orders for the captured ships to be readied at the docks, if evacuation became necessary.  He would send the population to the port city of Dol Amroth, ruled by his uncle Prince Imrahil, currently commanded by his cousin, he supposed, since Imrahil rode with the King.  With the fleet of the pirates of Umbar decimated, the port towns need only be defended on the landward side.  He felt that somehow, if Sauron triumphed, the people of Gondor would have some sign of it. 

 

He watched her as he showed her the map.  She would nod in understanding, perhaps unconsciously, as he made his points.  Women of Gondor, at least those noblewomen and household servants with whom he was familiar, did not recognize or understand matters military so swiftly.  He had no doubt that should the whole of the force be mounted, Lady Eowyn could better tell him their speed and capabilities.  Faramir had a sudden vision of the lady mounted and armed, commanding troops, and the idea caused such a swelling of admiration in his heart, he could almost wish to see her in battle.  There was such honor in her face, and such sorrowful vulnerability in her eyes, he could scarce breathe when she came near.

 

He had laid the map over several documents with plans for evacuation and escape.  He would not share those with her yet.  Faramir knew that should the worst occur, he gazed upon the Queen of Rohan, last of the House of Eorl.  Some of the plans he had laid out with Lord Hurin of the Keys, the fat and jolly Majordomo of the Citadel, were in regards to the Rohirrim.  The Men of Numenor would not forget their brethren in their flight from Sauron.

 

Still, she was the daughter of kings, he reminded himself, as her shrewd gaze pierced him suddenly. 

 

"Should the battle go ill?" she asked sharply.

 

"There are plans," he admitted.  "I imagine we'll have some warning."

 

"Warning?  Such as?"

 

He shrugged a little, turning.  "A messenger?  The skies turning black, lit only by the glow of Mount Doom?  Nazgul raining death upon our heads?"  When she paled, he quickly apologized.  "I am sorry, my lady!  I fear my thoughts grow grim indeed when I think of all that may be lost."  Faramir forced a smile onto his face, but it was a poor smile.  "Come, let us speak of other things.  I promised my lord King that I would cling to hope, and I am resolved to keep my promise."

 

Lady Eowyn acquiesced, and allowed him to lead her to the gardens, where they passed the day discussing many subjects.  Faramir told her a dozen tales of elves, and of the Last Alliance, and even taught her some elvish words.  She told him the tale of her first colt, of raising it and training it, and some small amount of recent days in the Golden Hall of Edoras.  He sensed it was a subject she did not care for, so he didn't press her, though the shadows that darkened her eyes when she spoke of such things worried him.

 

* * *

 

The fourth day, Eowyn awoke with even greater listlessness than the day before.  She had tried, how she had tried, to cling to hope as Faramir said, all the day before as they distracted each other with tales and other nonsense.  Yet the moment she opened her eyes, she told herself, it will be today, and naught could shake the feeling of doom that was upon her.

 

A maid arrived before she even stood, bearing a package.  "This comes from Lord Faramir, my lady, with his compliments."  Once revealed, the velvet cloak formed its own shadows, silver stars giving depth to the illusion that the wearer wore the very night sky as her mantle.   Eowyn regarded the cloak with mixed emotions, aware of not only the implications of the gift, which spoke so clearly of Lord Faramir's admiration, but also of her own sorrow that she could not respond as she suddenly thought he expected.  It concerned her as well, for what man would pay court to a lady at such a time?

 

Still, she felt the chill of the air in her very bones, and soon practicality won over courtly sensibilities.  But she did not seek out Faramir as she did the day before.  Her gloom drove her to the very edge of the Houses, standing over the great empty air of a tremendous drop.  The city seemed hushed, and she could see no one in the streets below.  She watched the sky, resolute and afraid, and did not turn when she heard Faramir's footsteps behind her.

           

* * *

 

Faramir paused when he first saw Lady Eowyn, framed by the arches of the atrium, her golden hair falling over the nighttime blue of his mother's cloak.  The image reminded him so poignantly of his few sad memories of his mother, who died when he was very young, that he almost regretted gifting Eowyn the cloak.  But the maid had said the lady's own Rider cloak was beyond repair, and this one he kept readily to hand. 

 

Yet even as he reminded himself that his fancies were foolish, he had to steel himself to interrupt her reverie.   She did not turn at first, as she spoke of the chill and silence. 

 

"Tis but the chill of the first spring rain," he responded, seeking to reassure her.  And when she turned to meet his gaze, he suddenly realized he spoke the truth.  He could not help but smile as he took his carefully guarded hope to heart, and said, "I do not think this darkness will endure."

 

To his everlasting relief, Lady Eowyn seemed to take strength from his gaze, and almost without realizing, they clasped hands.  With that contact, she seemed to melt, and he gladly gathered her to his breast and gave her what warmth and comfort he could, amazed and grateful this remarkable woman would trust him so.

 

* * *

 

 

There was a gentle strength and confidence in his face, and Eowyn could not but draw upon it.  That this lord, who surely knew better than she what perils they now faced, could smile, and assert that Light would triumph, gave Eowyn such heart, it seemed she drew breath for the first time since the Rohirrim charged the Fields of Pelennor.  Almost without thinking, she reached for him even as he reached for her.  His fingers wound about hers, and she deliberately moved closer, seeking a comfort she had not sought since she was a young girl.  As he embraced her, she breathed deep of his warmth, drawing his hope into her own heart, and she knew without question his unconditional confidence not only in the Light, and his king, but in her as well.   It was a gift, like the cloak, of a generous and gentle heart.  Surely the world would endure with men like Faramir of Gondor in it.

 

They held one another, setting aside their fears and facing the future with a calm optimism.  Eowyn did not measure the time.   The city, even the world, around them seemed to grow even more silent, and Eowyn felt she could almost hear the distant clash of arms where so many men faced their doom. 

 

The darkness of Mordor became oppressive, reaching out across the sky.  Then, suddenly, a pressure came to bear on them, and Eowyn felt her chest constrict, as though confined, and she could not breathe.  She stiffened, expecting the utter end.

 

* * *

  
 

Faramir felt the evil fog of Mordor reach into his soul, and though his eyes were filled with the gold of Lady Eowyn's hair, his vision contained only the Black Gate, and the distant spear of Barad Dur.  He longed to be beside his King, his uncle, and all the men of Gondor and Rohan as they faced the ultimate battle.  His arms tightened around the lady, to protect her if he could.

 

He felt the moment all of Arda stilled.  It seemed no creature moved, or even breathed, and he could feel Lady Eowyn tense within his arms.  Then, it seemed as if a balance shifted, and a hot wind blew across the fields of Pelennor from Mordor, and with it, Time resumed its march.  Faramir suddenly felt lightheaded, as if a weight had been removed from him, and his eyes widened as the black clouds of Mordor began to tear apart.

 

"It is done!" he whispered, and Lady Eowyn moved at last to look up at him.  "It is done!" he repeated, stronger.  She turned in his arms to face the East, and he felt her gasp as she saw the sunlight begin to break through the darkness.    "It is done!" he shouted.  "Frodo did it!  The Ring is destroyed!  Sauron is defeated!"

 

"Can it be so?"  Lady Eowyn asked, her voice sharp with hope.

 

"It is!  I know it is, I can feel the Light returning.  Oh, Eowyn, we have won!"   He hugged her close, so delighted he forgot all propriety.   Releasing her just as quickly, he leaned over the ledge, bellowing to the people of the city.  "Arise, children of Numenor!  Rejoice, People of the West!  Evil is thrown down!  The Dark is no more!"

 

He turned to find the lady staring at him, her mouth open in amazement.  With a shout of joy, he grabbed her waist and spun her around and around until her hair streamed behind her like golden water, and she laughed at his foolishness.  Below them, the White City at last came to life, people's voices raised in joy and in song.

 

Halting their romp and steadying Lady Eowyn, he said, "We must hurry to the Citadel!  There is much, so much to be done!"   Taking her hand again in his, he led her through the Houses of Healing and into the streets.

 

* * *

 

Eowyn could hardly believe the transformation, not only in the city, but in the man before her.   As light began to stream stronger and stronger from the East, the White City at last showed its name, glowing in the sun.  People filled the streets and avenues, hugging, dancing, and singing with joy.  And Lord Faramir too was transformed, his eyes alight and shining.  The somber captain was gone, and in his place was a proud and happy man, with a serenity about him that did not dim his energy.  She hurried after him, clinging to his hand, and they ran through the streets like children, greeting the people and sharing in the wonder of freedom from evil.

 

"Eagles!"  Someone from an upper window shouted, pointing east.   Faramir paused, the space between two buildings affording them a view.  There, silhouetted against the long-missed blue sky, three enormous birds flew towards the City, their massive wings beating the air in long strokes.

 

"Quickly!"  Faramir gasped, pulling Eowyn into a run.  They tore through the streets, reaching the ramp to the Seventh Level just as the giant birds descended.

 

The four ceremonial guards raised their spears, but Faramir cried, "No!  Let them land!"  For they could see Gandalf mounted on the back of one legendary eagle, and two were burdened with small limp figures.   Faramir dropped Eowyn's hand to raise both of his own in greeting.  "Mithrandir!"  He yelled, hurrying forward.  "Say it is true -- that we have won the day!"

 

"We have indeed," the wizard confirmed.  "But at some cost."  He dismounted from the bowed eagle lithely, belying his great age.   The wizard quickly relieved an eagle of its burden.  "The mountain raged, the Dark Tower and Black Gates crumbled.  Noble Gwaihir and his kin flew with me into Mordor, and there we found two heroes clinging to the side of a rock."   He turned to Faramir, and they saw he held Frodo limp and unconscious in his arms.

 

"Frodo!"  Faramir gasped.  He looked, and saw the other eagle's burden.  "Samwise!"  Quickly, he bowed to the great avian, and took the other hobbit into his own arms. 

 

"Lady," he called to Eowyn, who hovered at some distance from the giant birds.  "Run ahead to the Houses!  The Master Healer will have to see to these two noble heroes."

 

Eowyn did as bid, swiftly, as the wizard and Steward followed close on her heels.  As soon as they reached the Houses, the healers descended upon them, and set to with much industry to relieve the suffering of the two halflings.

 

Eowyn, watching from behind Faramir's broad shoulders, murmured, "They are so alike to Meriadoc and Peregrin."

 

"Indeed," Faramir whispered back.  "Master Frodo Ringbearer claims kinship to our two friends."

 

"And Master Samwise?  His esquire?"

 

One of Faramir's swift smiles crossed his face.  "His gardener."

 

Eowyn gave the Steward a puzzled look, but he would comment no further.  Soon, the healers began to disperse, their immediate tasks completed. 

 

"Lack of food and water, weakness from heat and minor burns, but all in one piece -- for the most part," Mithrandir reported with relief.  "Frodo sustained the loss of a finger.  I wonder…." Shaking his head, the wizard moved on to other subjects.  "The King survives, triumphs in fact."  Faramir's face lit up at this news.  "Few if any were lost.  I paused only briefly before departing for Mount Doom with Gwaihir's assistance."  The Istar bestowed a twinkling smile on Eowyn.  "Your brother lives, and accounted very well of himself, so he boasted."

 

At his words, Eowyn felt the last knots on her heart loosen.  Eomer lived!  She exchanged a grin with Faramir, seeing his pleasure in her relief. 

 

"I will stay with Frodo, until he awakens.  Aragorn meant to gather the men and make such time returning as they may, with some injured and no mounts."

 

"I will arrange riders to go out, to spread the word, and send such supplies as may be found," Faramir responded immediately.  He made as if to leave but then hesitated.  "And Master Samwise?"

 

Surprising even herself, Eowyn spoke suddenly.  "I will sit with Master Samwise, if it shall suit?"

 

"My thanks, my lady," Faramir replied, and there was such approbation in his fond gaze, Eowyn felt her cheeks heat with a blush.  She dared a glance at the wizard, but the Greyhame only raised a brow at her.  

 

"I must go," Faramir continued. "There is much to be done to prepare for the return of the King."


	2. Chapter 2

Faramir made his way up the streets of Minas Tirith, greeting his people with fond pride.  He'd spent most of the morning surveying the damage sustained on the first and second levels of the city.   Plans must be drafted and set in motion, to repair or replace a great deal.  The charred remains of the great gates had been pulled down immediately, and almost the Steward was tempted to leave the gigantic arch open, as testament to his confidence in the new peace forged out of Sauron's defeat.  On the first full day of freedom from the Darkness, he'd begun his day at dawn, standing on the very edge of the ship's keep of the City, watching the sun rise for the very first time in his life.  And despite the very busy day he'd had beginning the restoration, this day he again found himself awake at dawn, watching as rose and gold covered the sky.  Would he ever grow tired of the sight?  He doubted it very much.  With that miraculous sight to fortify him, Faramir dedicated himself to preparing Minas Tirith and Gondor for her King's return. 

 

Though part of his mind still dwelt on what needed to be done in the city, and on what information certain clerks sent into the Archives might have found, Faramir did not fail to notice the Houses of Healing as he reached the sixth level.   Those halls still succored many, including the two halflings to whom the whole of the West owed gratitude.  There too remained the wizard who'd befriended Denethor's lonely second son, and the lady Eowyn, the lady to whom that second son had lost his heart.  To himself alone, Faramir had no reservations about admitting his regard for the Lady Eowyn.  And though her beauty had laid the snare, it was her person that had trapped him.  Since the Ring was destroyed, he'd had little contact with her, but every word she'd uttered since they'd met, every glance, every wry smile, had writ themselves upon his mind, where he revisited every moment in memory, awash in admiration.  She was magnificent.  She was admirable beyond any woman he'd ever heard of. 

 

She was also suddenly before him, in the doorway of the Houses, and waving to him. 

 

"Lord Faramir!"  She called, and he obediently hurried to her.  "I was about to go in search of you," she exclaimed as he joined her.  "Master Samwise has awoken."

 

"He has!"  Faramir delighted in the news.  He followed Lady Eowyn into the Houses, and to the room where Samwise had been recuperating.  They entered the room where Mithrandir sat speaking with the halfling.

 

* * *

 

"Captain Faramir, sir!"  Samwise cried the moment he spotted the Steward.  "Oh, this is a relief!" 

 

Eowyn smiled to see Faramir greeted so well, and to see the clear pleasure in Faramir's expression as he returned the halfling's hail.   Clearly, the two had met before, but Eowyn did not know the tale.  A great deal had happened leading up to the final battle and the destruction of the One Ring.  She wondered how much Faramir had not told her, about the events in motion, and his part in them.  Obviously, he had befriended and aided the halflings somehow, as his conversation with Samwise displayed.

 

"Twas right you were, sir, make no mistake," the halfling said, shaking his head.  "That Gollum did all he could to turn Mister Frodo's head.  And I near fell for it, too, leavin' Mister Frodo alone as I did up there on that dreadful pass."

 

"Long did I fear for you and Frodo," Faramir replied, "feared that the dangers were too great, and that the skulking thing that led you would prove false.  But you have won, Master Samwise, you have won the day!  All the West owes you and Frodo a debt of gratitude that can never be repaid."   He smiled at the halfling.  "Now, you and your master will heal, and peace shall reign in Middle Earth."

 

Eowyn, standing close to the door, smiled herself to hear such bright optimism from the Steward.  Never had she heard him say a single thing to belie his utter faith that the West would triumph over foul Sauron's evil.  Slipping out the door, she ordered food for Samwise, recalling how Meriadoc and Peregrin had ever held their stomachs as their first concern.   Then she sought the Matron of the Houses, a woman charged with control over domestic matters.  Discovering upon inquiry that the halflings' clothes were severely damaged, she ordered that seamstresses be found to replicate the garments.  When asked on what account should the services be charged, she did not hesitate to order they be credited to the House of the Steward.  Her confidence and ease in ordering such matters put her beyond questioning.  At any rate, few there were in the Houses who did not know of the friendship between the Lady of Rohan and the Steward Faramir.  Many tongues were set to wagging by Lady Eowyn's commands, but all with the fond expectation of an arrangement that would surely be soon announced.

 

Eowyn herself heard nothing of these rumors, but returned to Master Samwise's room in time to hear the halfling say, "And surely I though I was dead when I awoke, for no lady so lovely could be watching over the likes of me."

 

She heard Faramir's chuckle.  "You are indeed fortunate, Samwise, for the Lady Eowyn is formidable."

 

"Lady of where?" 

 

"She is sister to the King of Rohan."  Eowyn thought she detected a note of hesitation in Faramir's voice.   She wondered at it.

 

"A princess then.  And sittin' here watchin' over me."  

 

"The Lady does as she wishes.  She did offer to watch over you."  This time, Faramir's voice rang with approbation.

 

"Did she now?  A gracious lady she is indeed.  I -- Why, Captain, are you --?"

 

"Samwise."  Faramir's voice held a note of warning, and Eowyn felt a great curiosity as to the expressions on the speakers' faces.   Just then, a maid hurried up with a tray of food, and with a nod for Eowyn lingering around the door, brazenly entered the room. 

 

"Ah, now that's a sight to comfort a hobbit," Samwise declared. 

 

"I'll leave you then, but shall return soon to visit."   Eowyn scuttled away from the door, lest Faramir catch her listening.   He noticed her as soon as he exited the room, with a smile for her.  Eowyn was suddenly struck by his presence, but how she could not say.  Indeed, Faramir was very tall, and seemed full of energy this day.  "Lady, may I have a moment?" he asked her.

 

"Of course.  I see we need to resume your lessons."

 

Faramir's expression appeared blank for a moment, then he placed her jest, and smiled.  "Alas, my lady, I fear I shall prove a most recalcitrant student." 

 

"Nonsense.  What is there to distract you from your studies?"  She teased.

 

His expression turned wry.  "A great deal, at that.  Tell me, my lady, do you still long for employment?"

 

* * *

 

Faramir watched Eowyn's expression closely.   It was one thing for her to desire activity when waiting weighed upon her, and the future uncertain.  But would she still be willing now that Light had conquered, and the world was sure once more?  A sudden fear gripped his heart, that her powerful essence had been born of the desperate situation, and now with naught to threaten, she might change into a lady of no more substance than any other noble woman of his acquaintance. 

 

But his momentary fear was soon relieved by her eager expression.  "Indeed, my lord, I am willing to do whatever service may be needed."

 

"Thank you, my lady.  There is a great deal to be done.  Would you walk with me to the Citadel?"   In her company, he left the Houses, and led the way to the seventh and highest level of the White City.  As they walked, he explained what was needed.   "First, I would ask that you do me a great favor by reviewing such horses as are left in the City.   A great many were lost, unfortunately, in the charge … to reclaim Osgiliath."  He hoped she did not notice his hesitation.  He still had not taken the time to grieve for those men under his command who had fallen, men whose deaths weighed on him even in this time of joy.  "I have sent some riders out to comb the fields, in hopes of finding a few mounts which might have escaped to wander.  The stables lie on the third level."

 

"What are you looking for?"  Eowyn asked, understandably interested in the task.

 

Faramir sighed.  "In truth, I do not know.  Hopefully, enough stock to continue breeding.  I suspect we will have to bargain for mounts with Rohan."  He gave her a sidelong glance, teasing, "Though perhaps we shall get a better deal with Dol Amroth, or Lossarnach."

 

"If you want to dilute your bloodlines with such weak stock, please do so," she replied with false arrogance.  They laughed together at the jest as they passed through the tunnel up to the Citadel.  "And the second task?"

 

Faramir paused, remembering her reluctance to speak of Edoras and her life there.  Were he not becoming desperate, he would never make the next request.  "My lady, Gondor has not had a King in over a thousand years.  I've discovered that the House of the King is in shambles."  He indicated the great stone mansion that dominated the right third of the Citadel, connected by walkways to the Great Hall.  "We have a Coronation looming ahead of us, and find we cannot even house our King respectably."

 

With a reserved expression, Eowyn questioned, "Do you not have someone to order the household?  Is there not a lady to undertake this task?" 

 

Faramir paused, concerned by the odd note in her voice.  He feared offending her.  "There is none.  There hasn't been a lady of high rank since my mother passed away, many years ago."

 

"But surely your brother --?  Or yourself?"

 

He flushed slightly at her implication.  "We neither -- there is no lady to order the House of the Stewards.  A housekeeper only, and I find now that she lacks initiative," he finished diplomatically.  He felt keen embarrassment to highlight his family's unstable structure in such a way.   "I am afraid that with the needs of the City and her populace, I have so many duties, I cannot keep close eye on the refurbishment of the King's House, and yet I have none to rely on.  My Lady Eowyn," he turned to her, stopping their progress.  "I would not ask were I not in such need."

 

Eowyn raised her chin, and met his gaze fully.  "You may rely on me, my lord."  A flash of determination in her eye banished any reservations he thought that he saw.

 

* * *

 

As they entered the great hall of the Citadel, half a dozen men called out to Lord Faramir.  Their sudden cacophony of voices amazed Eowyn, as they surrounded her patient friend.  He seemed to reply to each in turn, with assurances and clarifications of orders.  "And here is the Lady Eowyn Wraithslayer!" he finally raised his voice, commanding attention and overpowering their words.  "Sister to Eomer-King of Rohan.  She I have deputized as my adjutant in certain matters, and will act with my full authority."

 

Eowyn paused as these fawning men suddenly turned their attention to her, with bows and thanks for her service in the battle before the City.  A gentle touch on her elbow from Faramir steered her quickly away from the crowd, leading her to a side office.   Faramir firmly shut the door behind them, and she smiled a little when he sighed in an exaggerated fashion.

 

"I do see how your duties weigh upon you, my lord."  Eowyn said, and was rewarded with Faramir's swift smile. 

 

"I know not how my father dealt with them.  And can only imagine my brother calling for his sword were they to surround him."  She laughed at his jest, but saw the flash of misery that crossed his face at the memory of his lost family. 

 

Sympathetic, Eowyn pushed forward.  "How might I wield your authority in the matters you wish for me to manage?"

 

Nodding, Faramir moved to a desk and pulled out a heavy ring.  "Office of the Steward," he explained, handing her the seal.  "There are several, used by adjutants and messengers.  Ten, I believe."  He frowned a moment, looking into the desk.  "I have only five here.  I should collect the rest."

 

Sensing his distraction, Eowyn said, "I display this, and can command with your authority?"

 

"Yes.   Anything regarding the horseflesh of the City, and the Citadel, and anything else you notice that needs doing, feel free.  I trust your judgment."  Eowyn raised her eyes to his, startled by his bald statement.  He gave her an ironic smile.  "None I trust more in the City, besides Mithrandir."   Their eyes held, and Eowyn felt a sudden flush heat her cheeks.  When initially asked to undertake this task, she had felt a disappointment, that her friend would ask her to perform such duties that any lady might order for him, despite his expression of confidence regarding the horses.  But she now realized what he truly asked of her.  Lord Faramir trusted her with ordering his home and city.  He trusted her to act as a ruler would.  She recognized as well that this was the same sort of faith in her strength and abilities as her uncle had shown in giving rule of Rohan over to her at Dunharrow, and she had not had the wit to appreciate it at the time.  She silently vowed to not fail Faramir as she had failed her beloved King.

 

Straightening her back, she tightened her hand around the signet ring.  "I will gladly do what I can." 

 

His expression of relief was almost comical.  "My abject thanks, my lady."

 

* * *

 

Faramir bid good day to Lady Eowyn, placing her in the care of a page that would guide her to meet not only the stable masters, but the staff of the Citadel who stayed during the siege, uninformed of the dangers.   Faramir often wondered at the tactics of his father, that the city was not prepared for siege, nor the populace evacuated.  Was it possible that his father did not recognize the threat of Mordor?

 

Setting aside contemplations that were no longer of any concern, Faramir finally opened the office to the Councilors, that gaggle of chattering old men who'd waylaid him and the lady upon their entrance.   The number of discussions held necessitated orders, requests for more information, and yet more discussions.   Within a very short period of time, Faramir began to wish for the king to return swiftly, so that he himself might flee.

 

"Enough."  He finally commanded firmly, and was privately surprised at the alacrity with which the councilors obeyed.  "Many of these issues must be considered at a later time.  We cannot make such decisions in haste, and certainly not in the absence of our King."  He glanced about, and saw with pleasure no defiance at the idea of Gondor's King.  These men could wreak havoc should they resist the return of the King.   Obviously, times had changed, and now any King was better than no King.   Certainly Faramir had already spotted some hesitation in their dealings with him as Steward, but it did not concern him.  He would not be ruling as Steward long, and that suited him well. 

 

Indicating the meeting had reached its end, he rose and exited the office.   He found Lord Hurin, the majordomo of the Citadel, waiting for him. 

 

"My lord," Hurin greeted him, bowing just as low as the others had done for Denethor.    Hurin met the gaze of this new Steward with a smile.  Faramir sensed that Hurin at least had faith in him, and it seemed if even should the King disappear again, Hurin would support this Steward with conviction.

 

"He let them squabble amongst themselves."  Hurin told Faramir in a low voice as they walked away from the crowd.  "Then cut them down and threatened them." 

 

"Are you insinuating that they see me as a soft touch?"  Faramir asked.   Hurin cocked an eyebrow at him.  Faramir chuckled sourly.  "Very well, perhaps I am a soft touch.  They are not evil, or even stupid.  Just misguided.  I keep hoping for sense from them."

 

"And find little."

 

"Little enough."

 

"Well, I have prepared you an escape.  The watch commanders await you in the barracks office on the sixth level.  And perhaps a tour of damaged trebuchet stations after that."

 

"My thanks, old friend.  I have given over certain authority in the Citadel to the Lady Eowyn of Rohan.  She is to assess the status of our horseflesh, and also she is given authority in ordering the King's House, and other such matters about the Citadel.  Indeed, I gave her free rein, if you'll pardon the phrase, to command as she sees fit."

 

Hurin paused in surprise.  "You trust her that much?"  His expression clearly indicated his amazement, for Faramir was not known to hand over any of his concerns to another's control. 

 

"I do."  But the closed look he gave the majordomo forbade further comment.  "You I need to delve into the Archives for guidance.  We know of Kings succeeding Kings, and Kings giving power to Stewards, and Stewards succeeding Stewards, but never have we had a Steward give power to a King."

 

* * *

 

Eowyn naturally made the horses her first priority.  She met with a trio of stable masters, pleased to find that two were born of Rohirrim mothers, and one a descendant of Lossarnach horsemen.   Many riderless Rohirrim mounts had been retrieved from the battlefield, and she taught the masters the breeding marks, so that they might identify the riders.  Many men still rested in the Houses of Healing, and Eowyn planned to reunite them with their mounts if possible.  Due to her presence in the stables, she was the first authority to hear reports of marauding orcs, and in unconscious defiance of custom, sent the messenger up the levels of the City mounted, the more quickly to report.   She would later find that Lord Faramir loudly lauded her order, as the move caused that much swifter a response from the forces left in the City.  

 

Then she was ordering such able-bodied Rohirrim left behind as defense that could be mounted to ride out and patrol the surrounding countryside and eliminate any remaining threat.  The Riders had hesitated to take orders from the Gondorian commanders, but obeyed after receiving Eowyn's approval. 

 

When she returned to the Citadel, she met at last Faramir's recalcitrant housekeeper and the staff.   The housekeeper, named Mirrill, was pinched faced woman, stick thin, with a sallowness about her features that spoke of ill humors.  She also had an unnerving tendency to mutter to herself under her breath, and as often as not her mutterings were uncomplimentary.  Eowyn instantly understood Faramir's problems with the woman, and resolved to take a firm hand with Mirrill and the staff.   With luck, Eowyn could find a maid or two with sense, and set them to separate tasks.  She had a page fetch a scribal desk for her, and she set to with a will.

 

"Let us begin then," she announced to the staff assembly.  "You say maids have been sent to clean the King's House, an excellent start.   Any repairs needed to doors, windows, plastering, and other structural elements should be reported immediately, and I shall arrange for craftsmen to do the work on the morrow.  The same should be done for any furnishings in need of repair.   Are there tiringwomen*?"  She looked up expectantly, and two matronly women stepped forward.  "Good.  Would you please make a survey of any linens that might still be in good order?  Any that might be immediately usable, we'll do a general wash.  Those repairable, we'll set aside for now.  We want to be presentable enough to do Gondor proud, but not work ourselves to death."  This sentiment won her quick support from the staff.  Eowyn smiled.  "If necessary, we will purchase linens.  I have met Lord Aragorn, your King.  He is a man of … simple tastes.  A soft bed will suffice, I doubt he'd notice the lack of embroidered royal seal."  Smiles were shared, and though Mirrill muttered about barbarian lack of manners, Eowyn saw that the staff preferred to imagine an amiable King.  She began to become concerned over the way things had previously run, if all seemed so relieved to take orders from a foreign lady rather than the familiar Housekeeper.

 

"Lady," a small girl with a small voice piped up.  "There are stores in the caverns, of both linens and fabrics."

 

Mirrill snapped, "Know your place, chit!"

 

With a scowl for the housekeeper, Eowyn motioned the girl forward.  "Excellent!  You are a seamstress?" 

 

The girl flushed.  "A laundress, my lady." 

 

"Well, you're now deputized to find those stores.  Take some of these strapping fellows with you," and Eowyn bestowed a smile on a few servingmen in the crowd, "to move the stores to where they can be examined."    Swiftly, Eowyn made her way through an array of duties performed in a royal household.  She quickly learned that Minas Tirith was not so different than Edoras, and despite Mirrill's dire mutterings, the staff of the Citadel had a good idea of their own responsibilities.   Truly, it was only Mirrill who truly caused problems.   And she was soon to learn why.

 

"Soap?  Nonsense!  Lye is good enough, cheaper too," the sour woman declared.  Eowyn blinked at that forceful proclamation, over as simple a matter as washing sheets.

 

"Soap makes the cloth softer," Eowyn replied.  Mirrill snorted rudely, and at that Eowyn stood.  "Mirrill, I will admit I am not familiar with all the customs of Minas Tirith, but I have ordered the household of a King.  Perhaps we should visit the House of the Stewards, that you might show me how things are done here?"  She nodded at the rest of the staff.  "You know your duties.  Dismissed."   They dispersed quickly, and Eowyn indicated the temperamental housekeeper to precede her. 

 

Eowyn viewed with dismay the state of the Steward's House.   Besides the vast number of rooms closed up, never aired or cleaned, she felt a dark atmosphere settle like a shroud upon her head as soon as she entered.   Growing up in Edoras, she was the only Lady of the line of Eorl, but even in that masculine bastion, the softer touch of a woman's care provided by the basic ministrations of the staff was well felt.  Comfort at least had been assured in Edoras, but here not even rugs softened the stone halls.  Few tapestries and fewer candles warmed the rooms.   It seemed as if the household were ordered to pinch a copper as far as one could go.  Eowyn experienced a sense of disorientation as Mirrill conducted her through the Steward's suite.  Surely these were not the rooms of her friend Faramir?  But when she asked out of sheer consternation, she was informed that these were Lord Denethor's rooms, and that Lord Faramir had yet to make arrangements to move into them. 

 

When viewing the heir's suite, Eowyn grew even more confused.  Here were the lush fabrics and expensive items she would have expected in the Steward's rooms, but they were carelessly maintained, a candle stub melted right to a veneered desktop, the pile of a velvet coverlet crushed by a chainmail shirt thoughtlessly dropped atop it.  Still, the feel of the room abounded with an air of masculine and martial pursuits.  These were the rooms of the late Lord Boromir, and yet the rooms seemed untouched, as if expecting the return of the lord.

 

"Does no-one clean?"  Eowyn asked, and got a scowl for it.

 

"Of course!  Though we are not to move the Lord's things, for he likes to find his things where he left them."   Eowyn wondered if no one had told the dyspeptic housekeeper of Lord Boromir's passing, or if the woman was indeed delusional.

 

"And Lord Faramir's rooms?"  Eowyn asked, careful to keep her tone disinterested.  With her brother and her cousin, all that could be learned about them could be seen in their chambers.  From what she'd learned so far of her friend's father and brother, she wondered at what she might learn in his rooms.  Perhaps her interest was unseemly, but she felt a strong curiosity about Faramir's habits, and his rooms were certain to reflect them.

 

The long walk to Faramir's chambers worried her.  Why were they so far from the others?  She also noticed that the building became draftier as they walked.   When they arrived, she stared about.   The rooms were situated on the mountain side of the building, with only the dull view of the catacombs and rocky steeps.  They were indifferently maintained, that much she felt apparent.  She recognized inexpert repairs to the room and furnishings here and there.  She almost gasped aloud as she realized that the repairs may have been done by Faramir himself.  In glaring comparison to Boromir's rooms, Faramir's accoutrements were simple, almost common in nature.  But in contrast, every cheap tallow candle sat in a proper holder.  Books were carefully shelved.  A rag rug, most likely purchased on a lower level of the city, covered the floor near a small hearth.  Eowyn puzzled over a bowl of water on the floor, until a quiet mew caught her attention.  Under the neatly made bed hid a small cat.  Eowyn smiled to herself, but did not try to draw the little thing out, imagining Mirrill's outrage.  On the one sunny corner of the balcony, a pot of yellow flowers grew. 

 

She learned a great deal about her friend in a few moments of observation, and a lump formed in her throat.  How he tried to make these small and distant chambers home!  It was as if his unflagging optimism decorated the room.  Neat, as comfortable as possible, and with the same sense of quiet solidity Eowyn felt from Faramir himself when she was near him, these rooms were clearly a refuge for him.  

 

Eowyn wondered if she dared take on reorganizing the Steward's house as well as the King's.  Certainly, she might make changes to the foyer and the halls, opening up the additional rooms, if naught else but for a routine cleaning, and attempt to banish the feeling of dismal doom that filled the building.  A new era had arrived.   She would not presume to touch the suites, but the house itself could be refurbished, to show the people that not only was the Crown renewed, but their traditions could be as well.   Determined, she strode from Faramir's chambers.

 

"Very well, here are my instructions…"

 

* * *

 

 

Faramir shared a pint of ale with the commanders after several hours reviewing the status of Gondor's defenses.   Message riders made their way to the King, carrying reports and requests for orders.   Having heard of Eowyn's command of the Riders of Rohan, Faramir passed the word that any reports regarding the Riders or their horses should be sent directly to the Lady, who would report directly to him.   This prompted a round of tale-telling and singing, as many men expressed their admiration for the Lady's bravery and skill at arms.  The soldiers of the barracks comported themselves with the sort of disbelieving relief of men pardoned from a death sentence at the final hour. 

 

Late in the day, Faramir made his way back up to the Citadel.  A group of citizens at the seventh gate blocked his way, a few men and several women.

 

"What's all this?" he asked of the guards. 

 

"They want into the Citadel, my lord."

 

"We wish to help," a woman said, bobbing a rough curtsey at Faramir.  "Word is that the Lady Wraithslayer makes ready the Citadel.  My niece told us as she bought linens for the King's House."

 

"Your niece is on my staff?"  Faramir asked.  "What is her name?" 

 

"Tayriel.  Good girl, she is, and says there's much to do, and they all be running hard, for the King returns soon, and Gondor must do him proud." 

 

Faramir smiled, hearing an echo of Eowyn's strong personality in that declaration. 

 

"I'm a carpenter, my lord," said one man.  "Any work that needs doing, I can do."

 

"My sister and I are good and quick with our needles, my lord.  We want to help." Two young women to his right smiled eagerly.

 

"Not askin' for wages, lord," said one older fellow, twisting a cap in his hands.  "A man can scrub floors for his king as well as fight for him."

 

Faramir felt his heart swell with pride.  "You do your country so proud.  I cannot thank you enough.  Guard, any that come to the gates looking to help within the Citadel may be passed on, with my approval."  As the gathered folk cheered and entered, Faramir stopped the matronly aunt of Tayriel with a touch.  "M'lady, pass the word.  No general wages can be offered, I'm afraid, but should there be those who have no other livelihood left…"

 

The woman nodded wisely.  "I'm understanding you well, my lord.  And I may say, 'tis a blessing and a comfort to us all that you're here to look out for us, my lord."  She patted his hand in a motherly fashion, then followed the rest into the tunnel to the seventh level. 

 

Faramir trailed after them, a small, bemused smile upon his face.   In the courtyard, he watched as the citizens paused, to honor the Tree, and then made their way to the King's House.   Faramir stood a moment, enjoying the late day sunshine.  As he lingered, a page bolted from the King's House, crossed the courtyard at full speed, and entered the Steward's House.   Faramir directed his attention to the Steward's House, and noted with confusion that the vast majority of the windows were unshuttered.  Even as he looked, a window opened, and he caught a glimpse of Eowyn's bright hair in the fading light.  Mystified, Faramir walked to the entrance. 

 

As he approached, the page bolted out the door, nearly running his lord down.  "My Lord!"  the boy yelped in apology, then hurried on his way.   Now truly confused, Faramir entered his own house to find it transformed.  

 

Shutters on the upper walls of the large foyer had been opened for the first time in years, and even now, a washerman perched on a ledge, carefully cleaning the colored glass in the evening light.  Faramir could hear the bustle of a number of people in the house, normally so silent and grave.  Doors to the left and right opened on salons he hardly remembered, and there too windows were open wide, allowing the burgeoning evening breeze to pass in.  He stopped to contemplate a room decorated entirely in blue, and a vague memory of hesitantly plucking harpstrings as he sat in his mother's lap teased his mind. 

 

Then raised voices drew his attention, and he mounted the stairs to the second level.  Following the noise, he found Eowyn standing in a large study, arguing with his housekeeper.

 

"Madam, I care not one whit that Lord Denethor preferred to husband his assets with tallow!  You will send for beeswax!  Is this or is this not the greatest city of the West?  The home of your rulers should reflect that!"

 

"You know nothing of Gondor, you heathen hussy -"

 

Faramir did not wish nor even need to hear the rest of that sentiment.  "What is going on here?" he cried, inadvertently saving his housekeeper from a potentially fatal blow. 

 

"Faramir!"

 

"My lord!"

 

The two women had the grace to look momentarily shamefaced, though both quickly recovered.  A blush stained Eowyn's face as Mirrill found her voice first.   "My lord, this woman has not only claimed your authority, she has usurped mine, and means to completely up end this House and reorder everything to her own liking!"

 

Faramir glanced at Eowyn.  She met his gaze fully, though her blush did not fade, and she tilted her chin up just a fraction, as if in challenge.  Faramir was a bit bewildered, but fully inclined to trust the Lady of Rohan.  "Faithful Mirrill, I fear you are overwrought," he said kindly.  "You have maintained this house through the most trying of times.  Do allow the Lady to relieve your burden a while, and rest."  He made a tiny bow of respect to the woman.  "You may retire, and do not concern yourself.  I am sure you are tired."

 

Unstable the woman might have been, but not stupid.  Mirrill recognized a dismissal when she heard one, and with a sniff and pursed lips, she curtsied and departed.

 

Eowyn let out a heavy sigh as soon as the woman left the room.  "Truly, she is a nightmare!  However did you manage?"

 

Faramir turned to the lady, his brows drawn.  "I didn't," he replied absently.  "Mirrill had nothing to do with me, on my father's orders."  He shook his head, and asked, "My lady, what do you here?"

 

Eowyn froze.  "My apologies, my lord."  Her tone was formal, nearly cold.  "You bade me act as I saw fit.  The Steward's House is in as much need of ordering as the King's.  Should you wish to offer hospitality to nobles come for the coronation, now is the time to prepare." 

 

Faramir blinked, put off by her tone.  He held out a hand to her.  "My lady, in truth, the idea never even occurred to me.  I have been Steward but days, and place the comfort of my people before my own.  I had not thought that this house could be host to visitors." 

 

* * *

 

His voice seemed so piteous Eowyn slumped.  He was not angry with her, much to her relief.  Clearly, the man had no notion how to run a household.  "I am the one to apologize.  I have been fighting all day with that harridan.  I should not have spoken so to you, who have ever supported me and been infinitely kind."   She put her hand in his, and squeezed as their hands clasped together.  The distress in his eyes immediately dissipated, and he lifted her hand to place a light kiss on the back.  She felt her face heat again, and wondered how this Gondorian came to have such an affect on her.  Surely she'd blushed more in his presence these last days than in all her years together.  For a moment they simply regarded one another, almost basking in each other's presence. 

 

"I would not have thought of preparing this house," Faramir admitted.  "I am grateful to you, Eowyn."

 

She gulped, stricken by the sound of her name spoken so warmly by him.  Suddenly nervous for no reason she could fathom, she slipped her hand gently free.  "I hope I did you no disservice.  It is a lovely house.  Many rooms are in good condition, and need only cleaning.  And now I am told that people are coming up to offer help.  We will soon have all to rights."

 

"Yes, I met some on my way in.  Tell me, have you met a girl called Tayriel?" 

 

Eowyn chuckled.  "Yes I have.  That young woman has been promoted today.  From washing girl to one of my most trusted deputies.  She'll have your butlers marching in close order soon."

 

Faramir smiled.  "I have met her aunt.  I'm minded to find a new housekeeper.  What think you?"

 

Eowyn shrugged.  "Tayriel is inexperienced, but quick witted.  Or do you mean her aunt?  I have yet to meet her."  She turned to a nearby mantle, wiping the surface with a cloth.  She could feel Faramir's eyes upon her, and yet something felt so comfortable in discussing such matters with him.  Perhaps it was because she could rely on Faramir to listen, to weigh her advice and act on it should he find it good?  For the first time in her life, to order a household's domestic matters did not seem a task for the weak, but something one could do as a trusted partner.  She hazarded a glance to find Faramir watching her, his customary small smile upon his face.  Eowyn smiled in return.

 

There was a tap on the door.  Eowyn turned to find the very girl under discussion standing there, a bolt of fabric in her arms.  "My lady?"

 

"Tayriel!  Faramir, this is Tayriel, and she has done me much good service today."

 

Faramir smiled at the girl, who became quite flustered.  "I am glad to hear it," he said warmly.  "Excuse me, please.  I fear I shall only get in the way."  With that, he left them.

 

"My lady, I think that this would do, don't you think?  For the Lord F-Faramir?"  The girl proffered the dark blue velvet in her arms. 

 

Eowyn smiled.  She'd sent Tayriel to search the fabric stores.  Garments for Lord Aragorn had already been ordered.  Now Eowyn planned that the Steward should be dressed just as well as the King, or better.   "That will do very well!  I think it will suit him." 

 

* * *

 

Faramir lay in wait near the bottom of the stairs.   As soon as he heard the girl leave Eowyn, he stepped out of the shadows.   "Tayriel," he called softly.

 

"M-My Lord!"  the girl gasped, startled. 

 

"Peace, child, I mean no harm.  Only -- you are managing the fabrics for Lady Eowyn?"

 

"I am, m-my lord."

 

"Good.  I should like… that is," Faramir found himself at a sudden loss for words.  How did one make arrangements for a lady's wardrobe, particularly for a lady one did not have an understanding with?  "The Lady Eowyn -" he began again, but didn't know how to phrase the request.

 

Fortunately, young Tayriel was indeed quick-witted.  "We found some brocade, my lord.  As gold as the lady's hair," she offered.   "I think one of the seamstresses might know what style would suite Lady Eowyn.  The lady had not mentioned herself, though garments are ordered for the King, and others."

 

"Thank you, Tayriel.  That will do well."  Faramir bestowed a smile on the girl as she bobbed a curtsey and made her way out of the house.  So Eowyn had thought to far as to prepare wardrobes?  Truly, the lady was Valar-sent. 

 

He made his way to his rooms.  There he received another surprise, for the fire had already been built, and his small roommate lay purring on the rug, an empty bowl nearby.  He knelt to pet the cat, gaining a louder purr and a fond lick.  Faramir had never named the tiny thing, having found it crying in a grate, piteously hungry.  He'd cradled the kitten under his cloak, smuggling it home not long after Boromir had departed for Rivendell.  His own need for company overcame any conscience he'd felt, but he'd refused to justify the action even to himself.  He simply brought the cat home, fed it from his own plate, and fatalistically tried not to become too attached.  He'd let it loose in the Citadel during his last tour, expecting it to find its own way.  But when he'd visited his rooms one last time, to prepare for the fatal charge on Osgiliath, the tiny cat made it quite clear it considered these its chambers, and Faramir a tolerated guest.

 

A tap on the door drew his attention from these musings.  "Come," he called, wondering who came to his chambers.  No one ever came here, besides Boromir.  Faramir even carried his own laundry to and from the kitchen.   He blinked as his door opened to admit a young servingman bearing a tray, an evening meal steaming thereon.  Following the servingman was Ergadol, an aged butler who normally spent his days dozing by the fire in the kitchens.  The ancient worthy had come to the Citadel under Ecthelion, Faramir's grandfather, but was long retired.  This was the first time Faramir could remember seeing the man do any work, but work he came to perform, ordering the servingman to settle the tray on Faramir's desk, and uncorking the bottle of ale he himself carried, to pour for his lord.

 

The servingman left, and Ergadol stood attentively by the desk, waiting for Faramir's approval to pour. 

 

At a loss, Faramir only stared at the man.

 

"Does my lord not wish to dine at this time?"  Ergadol finally asked, stiffly.

 

"No.  Yes.  I mean I am hungry."  Faramir sat, and at his nod, Ergadol poured the ale into a horn cup.   The table service was not the finest in the House, but as good as any.   The meal too was simple but plentiful, fowl and bread and some few vegetables, the sort of meal an army officer might enjoy in the barracks, somewhat better than the common run, but still not so elaborate as Denethor preferred. 

 

Ergadol bowed as he sat the ale near to hand, and said, "Should my lord require aught else?"

 

"No.  Thank you, Ergadol."  The elderly butler went to leave, but Faramir halted him, calling, "Ergadol?  What - why?"

 

The butler's professionally even expression did not change, but Faramir caught a glint in the old man's eyes.  "Her grace the Lady Eowyn has ordered the household.  She reminds us that you are Steward now, and must be treated accordingly."  He hesitated a moment, then continued, "I begged the honor of acting as your butler myself, my lord."

 

Faramir stared at the man a moment, then whispered, "Thank you, Ergadol."  The butler bowed and exited.  For a long time, Faramir stared at his meal, and wondered if he could possibly be worthy enough of Lady Eowyn's regard.

 

* * *

 

 

Eowyn had retired to the Houses of Healing just in time to enjoy a quick meal from the communal dinner.   In her chambers, she undressed and stared to the East, but without the feelings of despair that had so oppressed her before.   Instead, she smiled to herself, recalling all that had been accomplished that day.  A few more horses had been found, some even from Gondor, and more Rohirrim mounts were matched with their riders.  She'd been informed of the reports of several patrols, and had scribed them down and sent them to Faramir for review.  Matters in the King's House were well in hand.  The Steward's House too had been set to rights.   It turned out that much of the neglect of Lord Faramir that Eowyn had witnessed had been due to Lord Denethor's own disregard for his younger son.  Denethor must have been mad, Eowyn decided, for she had come to regard Faramir amongst the highest lords of her acquaintance.  She even had some thoughts as to the arrangements of the Steward's chambers, but would not proceed without Faramir's agreement.

 

This thought made her pause as she brushed her hair.  She realized that she had acted as if she were the Lady of the Household, and perhaps in this had acted presumptuously.  She'd determined that Lord Faramir was unwed, but it was possible he had some Lady in mind, who'd resided safely far from the City during the danger, who he'd now call back to his side.   Eowyn discovered a sudden ache of hurt in her chest at the idea of some other lady on Faramir's arm.  She tried to dismiss it, telling herself that it was only reasonable, that a lord such as Faramir must be widely admired by the Gondorian noblewomen, that she would soon be gone back to Rohan, to retake her place in the Golden Hall.   She knew her brother would rely heavily on her support.  Yet eventually, he'd seek to find a husband for her.  A matrimonial cage was no better than a sorcerous one, she thought.  No man of Rohan was high-born enough for her hand.  If there were none in Rohan, he'd look abroad.  And where else would he look but Gondor.

 

A sudden fancy entered Eowyn's mind, of being forced into a loveless marriage with some Gondorian lord, and be forced to attend the court and there witness Lord Faramir happily wed to some unknown lady.   Taken even further by her imaginings, what if the elven lady Aragorn so loved had indeed sailed into the mysterious West?  Surely Eomer would try to convince his friend to wed his sister.  In that instant, the thing she had once so longed for became abhorrent.  Never could she wed Aragorn, never.  There was not love there, for she recognized now her feelings for the King of Gondor as the desperate grasping of a desperate woman. 

 

Now depressed, she set aside her brush and stared into the deepening darkness of night.   She tried to imagine living in this City for the rest of her life, queen or courtier's lady.  Only one consolation to the prospect could she find -- the proximity of such a life to Lord Faramir.

 

* * *

 

A servant had appeared to take the tray away.  Faramir stood on his small balcony, watching the stars in the east sparkle.  He'd already watched sunrises, marveling at the swift lightening of the sky as the sun rose unimpeded by Mordor's dark clouds.   Now, he saw constellations he'd only read about.

 

Pressure against his leg drew his attention downwards, and he picked up his cat, cradling the feline close and enjoying its warm purr as the cat snuggled under his chin.  Faramir gently buried his fingers in the fine fur of the animal, stroking it.

 

"All is well," he whispered.  "At last, all is well."   He turned his gaze to the City, though the Houses of Healing were blocked by the bulk of the Steward's House.  "But I still wish for things I cannot have," Faramir told the cat sadly.  His own thoughts depressing him, Faramir set the cat down and made for his bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: “tiringwoman” – an old term for seamstress. Derived from “attire”. Most often used in relation to theatrical costuming, or embroidery/embellishment. Eowyn is looking for seamstresses that are regular staff as opposed to commercial seamstresses who might make garments on commission for anyone. In particular, a royal tiringwoman might be a specialist in embroidering the royal seal on linens.


	3. Chapter 3

Trained as a ranger, Faramir never slept heavily.  So it was that as soon as the door to his chamber began to open, even after a restless night, he was aware and tense, prepared to fend off any attack with the dagger kept under his pillow.

 

A pair of voices whispered together, but the shuffling of feet revealed at least three invaders.  Faramir stayed still, biding his time.  Eventually, two retreated, and the third approached the bed, halting at a respectful distance.

 

"My lord?  My lord, 'tis time to rise."  Ergadol's even and aged voice called to Faramir.

 

Without moving, Faramir observed, "I note you do not say awaken."

 

"My lord Steward is also Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien.  I doubt his cat could wander by unheard."  The butler's tone was respectfully ironic. 

 

With a chuckle, Faramir sat up and rubbed his face.  "I suppose I shall have to get used to this, eh, Ergadol?"  The butler held out a fine robe, one Faramir recognized from Boromir's wardrobe.  Faramir hesitated to take it, but practicality won out.  He could not simply shut away all reminders of his brother, or his father.  The Citadel was saturated with such memories, and the wastefulness of the impulse alone prevented him from doing it.  He supposed he'd have to have a few of Boromir's tunics cut down for himself.

 

In short order, Ergadol had Faramir seated again at the desk, a damp warm towel presented to the Steward to wash his hands.  A breakfast had been laid out, along with a sheaf of reports for Faramir's review. 

 

"Honey only, correct, my lord?"

 

"Yes, thank you," Faramir replied distractedly, frowning over a report in an unfamiliar hand.  Later he would recall with amazement that someone, anyone had known his preference for his tea, and wonder at it.  Now he began to read the report in an oddly slanted script.

 

The report detailed the results of two patrols of mounted Rohirrim, one of which had happened upon a half a dozen fugitive orcs and dispatched them.   Finally, Faramir recognized the report could only have been written for him by Lady Eowyn, and he marveled anew at the lady's abilities, for though the calligraphy was unpracticed, the report was in perfect Common Tongue, and contained every detail a commander would need to know, right down to the equipment deemed irretrievable from the skirmish.  Faramir quickly ate as he reviewed the rest of the papers.

 

A maid tapped on the door to announce that the lord's bath was ready.  Ergadol conducted Faramir to a previously unused chamber which contained the nearest bath.  Previously, Faramir borrowed Boromir's facilities.  As soon as Faramir was ready, Ergadol deftly assisted his lord in dressing.  

 

"If his lordship wouldn't mind, arrangements could be made to move him into the Steward's Suite," Ergadol respectfully suggested.

 

Faramir froze.  "No.  No, I -- no."  Ergadol bowed solemnly, but Faramir had already left, striding down the halls of the House.  He made immediately for the small office off the Great Hall, crossing the courtyard quickly, deliberately shutting the thought of occupying his father's rooms out of his mind.  He shied away from the move, as if his father would return to scold him.  And if he did move to the traditional suite, then he would have to eventually arrange for Boromir's rooms to be cleared out, and that did not bear consideration.  

 

Standing at a window, he stared at the struggling gardens.   He knew that in treating him with the status and rank he now held, his people clung to their traditions even as they knew all would change once the King was crowned.  He looked forward to that day with a sense of anticipation, longing for the time when he might finally escape.  All his life, he had longed to be free of those obligations, those duties that were his by birth, never suited to the ways of war.  And now that peace blanketed Middle Earth, he could be relieved of his burdens.  He loved his City, his people, his history, all of it, but he had felt his soul crumble under the pressure of command, the weight of his father's disapproval, and at times had wanted nothing more than to flee.  Soon, very soon now, he would see the King crowned, and then, he'd beg for his freedom.  He recalled Aragorn's wish to keep him on as Steward, but Faramir hoped that once Aragorn's reign was established and stabilized, he could be released from the position.  He'd travel down to Dol Amroth, to see his cousins and lie by the singing sea and count stars.  He could wander the glens of Ithilien, simply enjoying the shade of the trees.  Perhaps he'd even travel north to Rohan, to ride across the green plains and listen to the wind, as Lady Eowyn had described to him.

 

Lady Eowyn.   He wondered if he dared speak to her of his admiration.  But her brother was now King, and soon he himself would be naught but a citizen of Gondor, noble born but without rank.  Wealthy though, if the private reports Hurin had presented him had any merit.  The line of the Stewards had amassed a fortune in their own right over the centuries.  Even without rank, Faramir would never want.  But wealth was not enough to win the sister of a King, and there was the rumor amongst the Rohirrim of an attachment to Lord Aragorn.  Were that true, he would have to flee Minas Tirith, because to see the lady who held his heart be wed to another would bear him down more than Denethor's ire and the black despair of Sauron combined.

 

Lost in these ruminations, he did not hear the initial knock at his door.  A second, louder knock went unnoticed as well.  Finally, Lord Hurin dared to enter unbidden. 

 

"My lord!"  Faramir started, surprised by the majordomo's voice.  "My lord, are you well?"

 

"I am well, Hurin.  It is nothing.  What have you for me today?"

 

* * *

 

"Excellent!"  Eowyn nodded her approval at the changes wrought in the King's House.   Most of the building had been at least cleaned, and the vast majority of repairs affected as crews had worked through the night.  This morning, more citizens had appeared to assist, and so Eowyn had set most of the women to sewing.  Even the youngest girl of ten, giggling around her hand, was set to basting garments.   "Tayriel, the linens are well, and your idea to move that good clothespress in was inspired."  She smiled at the erstwhile laundry girl.  "I am tempted to steal you away to Rohan with me when I go, so clever you are."   Laughing, the girl moved on to her next task, leaving Eowyn to meet with the head cook.

 

The cook was another wise woman, and soon she and Eowyn had come to an agreement regarding the meals.  A welcoming feast of simple fare would be prepared for the morrow, when the King and armies were expected to arrive.   The coronation would occur a number of days hence, it was expected, and so more elaborate dishes could be prepared for then.  Eowyn recalled Lord Legolas seemed to prefer lighter fare, and sent a request to the archive, to see if any volumes therein might contain recommendations to meet elven palates.  When questioned, Eowyn remarked that the lord Gimli would only particularly require, "Ale, and plenty of it.  Send to the alehouses if stock in the Citadel be low."  Otherwise, the dwarf exhibited no dietary needs differing from that of Men or Hobbits.  

 

A messenger found Eowyn then, to relay that the patrols had gone out again.  Having time, Eowyn made her way to the Great Hall to inquire after Faramir.  She wanted to be sure he'd received her report, and approved of her orders.

 

The door to the office was open when she arrived, allowing several councilors to depart.  For a moment, she had the opportunity to observe Faramir unnoticed, and she frowned at the sight.   He seemed tired, though the sun was not yet high in the sky.  He rested his head on his fist, reading a page before him with a crease in his brow.  Eowyn felt like she saw a side of him she never knew, a weary and worn side.  Remembering the fragments of tales she'd heard the day before, she realized that Faramir had known little joy in his life.  Could it be possible that the humor and serenity he displayed with her was only a mask?  Or perhaps, he only felt such things with her?  A foolish thought, she told herself.

 

She tapped on the door, and his face turned up to her, momentarily annoyed, but that expression fled rapidly as he recognized her.  The lines on his face disappeared as he smiled at her, and the soft light she had come to expect from him shone in his eyes. 

 

"My lady Eowyn," he greeted her warmly, rising.  "Come in."

 

She entered the room, and he indicated she should take her ease in a nearby chair.  "I am glad you are come," he continued.  "The message riders returned at first light this morning."  He presented a folded parchment to her. 

 

She glanced at it, and seeing it was addressed to her from her brother, she opened it quickly.  "Eomer is well," she said with relief.  "We lost very few Riders.  Meriadoc is well too, and apparently spends much time vying with Peregrin over who has acquitted himself better upon the field."  Faramir smiled at her words.

 

"Indeed.  The King has written to tell me that my 'Citadel Guard' is well, and that they make good time on their march home.  They should arrive by tomorrow midday." 

 

A clamor outside distracted them, and both Faramir and Eowyn exited the office.  From the courtyard, raised voices drew them out, and Eowyn saw a noble couple crossing the greenery, a number of guards and servants milling around them.  The lady, a trim and dark-haired beauty, saw them first, and cried out wordlessly in delight, pulling on the arm of the gentleman.  "Faramir!" she shrieked, abandoning her escort to run across the courtyard.

 

Dumbfounded, Eowyn only watched as Faramir leapt down the stairs of the Hall to meet the lady's headlong rush.  "Lothiriel!" he cried, gathering her into a close embrace.  Eowyn could not move.  When had she felt this feeling before, she wondered as she watched the happy reunion, this terrible falling feeling.  She recalled it was when Aragorn had so gently told her he bore no love for her.

 

* * *

 

Faramir was shocked to see his cousins moving towards him, until Lothiriel's happy cry had broken through his surprise.  When Amrothos reached them, Faramir embraced him as well.

 

"We knew as soon as it happened," Lothiriel explained breathlessly.  "There seemed to be a hot wind from the East, though the breeze had been onshore all day." 

 

"We gathered at the palace, and 'twas Elphir who said it must be victory.  We put together our luggage and sailed at first light the next morning," Amrothos explained. 

 

"Is it only you, or did Elphir and Elchirion come as well?"

 

"Only we two, though with guards and servants.  And luggage for Father, who rode to war, not celebration." Lothiriel replied with a giggle.  "Where are our uncle and our cousin?  And who is the lady on the stairs who looks as if her heart were breaking?"

 

"Cousin." Faramir chided, not daring to look at Lady Eowyn.  For despite Lothiriel's assessment, he was loath to read the lady of Rohan's heart, fearing what he would, or would not, see there.   He took Lothiriel's arm and led his cousins up to meet Lady Eowyn. 

 

Eowyn’s face was as pale and chill as the first day he'd met her, and Faramir wondered at the change.  "Lady Eowyn, may I present to you Prince Amrothos and Princess Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, children of Prince Imrahil, my cousins on my mother's side.  Amrothos, Lothiriel, this is the Lady Eowyn Wraithslayer, sister to Eomer-King of Rohan."

 

A hint of thaw touched Eowyn's face as she curtseyed to his cousins, and they made courtesies to her in turn.

 

"Wraithslayer?"  Amrothos asked quickly. 

 

"It was the lady Eowyn who slew the Witch King of Angmar on the Pelennor."

 

"You rode into battle?"  Lothiriel asked, wide eyed.  At Eowyn's frosty nod, Lothiriel gasped, "Oh, I am so jealous!"   This seemed to surprise Eowyn as Lothiriel went on, "I always longed to learn the ways of the sword, but Gondor has no tradition of Sheildmaidens."   Lothiriel took one of Eowyn's hands in both of hers.  "You must tell me all, if you can bear it of course.  Some do not wish to speak of battle, like my cousin here, and others cannot stop, like Cousin Boromir.  He will tell you how wonderful he is for hours at the time."  But before she could continue further, a noise of protest from Faramir halted her words.

 

"Cousin?"  Amrothos laid a hand on Faramir's arm.  Faramir felt the blood drain from his face. 

 

"Faramir," Eowyn said softly, and Faramir looked up to see her eyes upon him.  The chill was gone from her face, and he saw only care and concern for him in her expression.  A surge of gratitude for her filled his heart as he drew upon her like an anchor, taking strength from her clear support, hesitating before speaking the dread words he must.

 

"Lothiriel, Amrothos.  Boromir - Boromir is dead.  And my father as well."

 

Lothiriel gasped as Amrothos gave a wordless cry of dismay.  "Oh Boromir!"  Lothiriel wailed as she embraced Faramir again.  It was Eowyn who drew them to the Hall and into the small office.  Amrothos took his sister and held her as she cried, while Faramir found himself staring at Lady Eowyn.  She met his gaze evenly, and he could not read her eyes, could do nothing but stare and feel the hollow ache in his breast over the loss of his family. 

 

Eventually, Lothiriel calmed.  Eowyn slipped out of the office with a murmured excuse.  Faramir assumed she gave orders for chambers to be prepared in the Steward's House for the newly arrived quests, for a servant soon arrived to conduct Amrothos and Lothiriel to their rooms.   When Eowyn returned, she bore a tray of tea, and in silence, she poured a cup, added a dash of honey, and handed it to Faramir.

 

He thanked her absently, but stopped after one sip.  Looking at the cup, he said, "It was you who told Ergadol how to prepare my tea."

 

She did not look at him, but poured herself a cup.  After a measured moment, she replied, "I had noticed, at dinner in the Houses of Healing.  They do not serve ale."   Faramir nodded, and silence reigned between them for a time.  

 

"Your sorrow is so great," Eowyn began, and he could hear the sympathy in her voice.  "And yet I'm told - forgive me."

 

He shook his head, unwilling to meet her gaze.  "That my father and I were at constant odds is no secret.  He scorned that in me which did not serve the purposes of war.  I think too, he blamed me for my mother's failing and death."  Eowyn gasped at the unfairness of that assessment.  "Though I learned to harden my heart to my father's criticisms, to let his harsh words wash over me, mostly unheard," he said ironically, "I loved my father, and followed his orders willingly and loyally."  Faramir paused, halted by the ache within his breast.  "And Boromir, my brother," he choked, his voice torn apart, the sound of a man too proud and stoic to weep, "he was everything to me - brother, father, mother, companion.  Alas Boromir."  He could not speak further, his throat too tight for words.  He gripped his cup in silence. 

 

Eventually, Eowyn said, "You have not allowed yourself to grieve for them."

 

Faramir swallowed before answering.  "If I grieve, then they are gone.  I must acknowledge the loss of them, and I cannot."

 

"If we do not grieve, then we do not heal from their loss."

 

"Wise words."  He finally looked up at her, to see her expression was as bleak as his own felt.  "So why do you not grieve either?"

 

She set her cup down, and to his horror, tears filled her eyes.  "Because then they are gone.  And I cannot let go yet either."

 

He set his cup down so quickly, he might have cracked it, but he cared little as he opened his arms to the lady, and she came to him swiftly, burying her face against the velvet of his surcote.  She did not sob, but he felt her tears wet his coat, and even as he held her, he shed a few tears at last for his own losses.

 

* * *

 

They stood together for a long time, simply holding one another for comfort.   Eowyn never thought about the propriety of her actions around Faramir.  He was too good to judge her, and when she realized that he saw her pain as much as she saw his, she could not but go to him, taking what comfort she could even as she tried to give comfort to him.  But eventually, her tears slowed, and his arms loosened, willing to release her if she should wish it.

 

But she did not.  Eowyn felt as if she'd found refuge in Faramir's arms.  Twice now, his embrace had helped her, succored her, given her strength.  Just as she expected and found pleasure in his admiring expression when he saw her, she knew she could go to him to ease her heartache over the loss of her uncle, and that of her beloved cousin Theodred.  That he was not bitter astounded her, and she longed to model herself upon his example.  She expected to feel her heart beat a bit harder around him.  She knew that when she saw his hurt, his burdens, she'd feel the lump in her throat, and feel the need to help him.  She knew he'd listen to her, and respect her.  He would never hurt her.  Odd that his touch never worried or disturbed her, as Wormtongue's had.  Instead, she seemed to seek out Faramir's touch.  Contact between them had become a form of communication. 

 

And Faramir was as noble and puissant a lord as Aragorn was, descended himself from princes, and as high of rank as it was possible for him to be, a warrior proven in battle and a lord beloved of his people. 

 

She sighed, recalling his delight in greeting his cousin.  Surely that was the lady Eowyn had imagined the night before.  In Rohan, noble families were so few, it was not unlikely that one would marry one's own cousin.  The blood of the Eorlingas was not so important as that of their horses, and only Theoden's sorcerous dotage and Grima's prurient interest had likely prevented Eowyn's marriage to her cousin Theodred, though it was probable that Theodred would have resisted mightily.  So the idea of a bond of affection between Faramir and his beautiful cousin was not strange to Eowyn.

 

Remembering the dark-haired lady, Eowyn reluctantly pulled herself from Faramir's embrace.  It was not sound that she should embrace him, when his supposed lady was now in residence.  In fact, she had better begin to mind her behavior more closely.  She turned to the desk, arranging the tea service absently.  She could feel Faramir watching her, and though she longed to look at him, she dared not, for fear of what he might see writ upon her face.

 

For she loved him.   She now knew her heart was not hardened as she'd fancied, riding off to war nursing a heart only bruised, not broken, full of vainglory in her thoughts, and vainly searching for honorable death.  Here stood a man as noble as Lord Aragorn, if not more, for Faramir had spent his life fighting the darkness, whereas Lord Aragorn as far as she knew only rode out of the Northern wastes recently to reclaim his birthright.  And more, Faramir had offered her friendship, trust, and respect, giving her duties and a position within his City that she could fill with pride and honor.  Now once again, she seemed to have given her heart to a man who would not receive it.

 

Schooling her features, Eowyn finally turned to Faramir.  His expression, initially sympathetic and grateful, slowly turned to puzzlement as he saw her calm and still face. 

 

"Eowyn?" he asked quietly.  

 

She felt a pang at the soft way he said her name.  "There is still much to be done today.  I have already arranged a welcoming feast for the morrow, and plans have begun for the Coronation feast.  Garments are being made.  Patrols of Riders headed out early, I shall have the reports brought to you again as soon as possible."

 

Faramir's brow creased at her formal tone.  "That is fine."   He waited, clearly expecting more.

 

Eowyn lifted the tea tray, and headed for the door.  "I will not take up more of your time, my lord."  She paused, knowing she had to acknowledge the comfort he'd given her.  "Thank you," she whispered, then gave him a respectful nod, and left.

 

"Eowyn!"  She heard him call out to her, but dared not turn, for she could not be sure she could hide her feelings any longer before him.   Later, she promised him wordlessly.  Later, when I might be able to hide my love and my pain, she thought.

 

* * *

 

Faramir leapt for the office door, only to be halted by the sudden appearance of a councilor, bowing unctuously and asking for his thoughts on the reconstruction of commercial shipping.  The man's questions prevented Faramir from going after Lady Eowyn, but he only listened with desultory attention as the councilor began a litany of the advantages of restoring commerce as soon as possible.  The rest of Faramir's attention was spent wondering what had changed so in the last few moments between him and the lady. 

 

He had thought that she welcomed his embrace.  Certainly he had not gone to her, but rather she had accepted his invitation to find comfort in his arms.  He had only held her gently, as a brother might.  Perhaps she was ashamed that he witnessed her tears, this brave sheildmaiden who had not hesitated before the dread Nazgul.  But Faramir saw nothing shameful in her tears.  He'd felt her pain as acutely as his own, and if her pain was eased by shedding tears, then so be it.  He did not think any less of her. 

 

Eventually, he had to set aside his ruminations.  He read reports, wrote orders, and received return messages from Lord Aragorn, which mostly replied noncommittally to Faramir's respectful suggestions.  He sighed and hoped that Aragorn would take interest in government.  He'd read honor and nobility upon Aragorn's heart when they'd met in the Houses of Healing, and thought that the future king was all Faramir had hoped he would be, but now Faramir worried.  What if Aragorn showed no interest in his people?  What if he disappeared again, refusing the throne?  Faramir may find himself trapped as a Ruling Steward of Gondor.  There was none other who could rule. 

 

The idea inspired a feeling of despair and almost panic through Faramir's mind, a feeling he'd not had since his very first skirmish twenty years before.   His only consolation was the mad thought that should Aragorn disappear, Faramir could offer for Lady Eowyn's hand with a clear conscience.

 

Taking up his pen, he sent a note to Ergadol, passing on orders for a family meal to be served to himself and his cousins this evening.  He thought to send an invitation to Eowyn, but preferred to wait.  He wanted to speak with her, to find out how he might have offended, lest he anger her further by blithely inviting her to a family dinner. 

 

He was about to abandon his desk and go in search of her when two staffwomen entered the office.  Curtseying, the elder said, "My lord, would you be so kind as to allow us time for a fitting?"

 

"A fitting?"  Faramir asked, surprised.  "What for?"

 

"Your coronation garments, my lord.  The Lady Eowyn was most specific in her orders."

 

A surge of hope went through him at those words, and he agreed to the fitting.  The fabrics were very fine, and though richer than his usual taste, he guessed that Eowyn had chosen well, since the younger maid could not stop blushing.  Flustered himself by her admiration, he remembered just before they left to ask after the gown he'd commissioned for Lady Eowyn.

 

"It is turning out very well, my lord," the seamstress assured him.  "Elsbeth, that would be Tayriel's aunt, is handling the lady's fitting.  And the coronation robes for His Majesty are almost complete, though there is some guessing to be done there."  She was pleased to hear of the King's arrival on the morrow, and Faramir suspected the sewing staff would descend on Aragorn nearly the moment he arrived.

 

Finally, Faramir was able to make his escape from his duties and return to the Steward's House.  His cousins greeted him, the warmth of their reception tempered by their knowledge of all that he had lost.   Lothiriel assured him their rooms were perfect, and complimented him on the reorganization of his home.

 

"Lady Eowyn has taken over the Citadel, on my authority," Faramir told her.  "All compliments are due her."

 

Lothiriel and Amrothos exchanged glances.  "The lady is admirable indeed," Amrothos offered, a clear opening salvo.  "Many of the guards had a great deal to say about her martial prowess."

 

"The maids are overcome with adoration for her," Lothiriel added.  "Seems she put wretched Mirrill in her place, and fired that simpering Donnovair." 

 

Donnovair had been Denethor's primary butler, but Faramir had not thought to inquire about the man since Denethor's passing.  "What was that about Donnovair?"

 

Lothiriel paused to sip her tea slowly, letting her cousin wait.  "Well, it seems when the Lady was arranging the schedule and staff of the house, Donnovair appeared less than enthusiastic about serving you, and according to one of the washergirls, repeated some of my uncle's less complimentary assessments of you.  At which point, Lady Eowyn apparently pronounced a litany of your admirable qualities, and informed Donnovair that if he couldn't serve such a noble lord, then he couldn't serve at all.  She turned him off completely."

 

"Barred him from the Citadel."  Amrothos interjected.

 

"At any rate, everyone was in shock, until Ergadol started applauding, and went to his ancient knees to beg the lady to assign him as your senior butler."  Lothiriel finished the tale with a disapproving look at her brother's interruption.  They were the youngest of Prince Imrahil's four children, with Lothiriel only nineteen years of age.  Amrothos had twenty-one winters, the next elder Elchirion, a born sailor with twenty-three, and Elphir the eldest, Imrahil's heir with a wife and heir of his own at twenty-six.  Elphir was still Faramir's junior by almost ten years, but Faramir adored every one of his cousins, though he'd not seen them since Lothiriel was barely eleven.  He had not received permission to attend Elphir's wedding, nor the naming of his son.  To have his cousins here, when he had felt the lack of family so keenly, came as a blessing to Faramir. 

 

"Quite the lady," Amrothos announced, with a sidelong glance at Faramir. 

 

"I so long to become better acquainted with her.  Will she not come to dinner?"  Lothiriel asked.

 

"I had not invited her," Faramir admitted, thinking on the implications of Eowyn's fierce defense of him.

 

"Faramir!  Shame on you!  I shall have a page seek her out with an invitation immediately," Lothiriel said, rising to suit action to words.

 

"No, cousin," Faramir halted her.  "No.  I believe the lady had other intentions for the evening, so I did not tender an invitation."  It was close enough to the truth, he imagined, for she had been so eager to leave him, he did not think Lady Eowyn would relish more of his company today.  "Tomorrow the King returns and Lady Eowyn's brother.  There will be plenty of time between tomorrow and the coronation for you to befriend Lady Eowyn."

 

* * *

  
 

When Eowyn returned to the Houses in the evening, the Warden admitted surprise that she should do so.  "Where would you expect me to stay?"  Eowyn asked.

 

"I had expected to receive word that you were the guest of the Steward." The Warden replied.

 

"It is not so," Eowyn told him, subdued.  "Here was I left by my brother, to heal, and here I shall remain."

 

She paused to look in on Master Samwise and Lord Frodo, only to find the former had repaired to the common room for company and the latter still slept, watched over by the wizard.  She took a tray of food, cooling due to the lateness of the hour, back to her room, but only picked at the food, and could not eat.  Again she stood by the window, and contemplated the night, imagining she could see the flickers of campfires beyond Osgiliath, where her brother surely camped this evening. 

 

Merely days ago, she had fled her country in disguise, longing to flee from her hurt and her people like a wild thing fleeing a cage.  Now she wished to flee back to Rohan, to take up whatever duties were needed and so bury her pain in honorable activity.   Leave Gondor, she told herself, and make certain Eomer does not wed you back again.    Go, and try to forget the look in his eyes when he sees you.  Forget the way he says your name. 

 

Eowyn laid her forehead against the stone casement of the window and wept.  Wept for her cousin, killed by orcs on the very borders of Rohan; wept for her uncle dead on the field of battle only days after being freed from Saruman's fell curse.  Wept for the Riders dead here and before the Black Gate.  And most of all, she wept for herself, berating her treacherous heart, and the vain hopes she'd had for her life, and for the futile love she bore for Faramir of Gondor.


	4. Chapter 4

Eowyn rose early, visiting the stables, determined to restore her equilibrium with work.  Now that a number of stray mounts had been brought in, she began to assess their health and bloodlines.  Eowyn quickly decided that Rohirric mounts had best be sold to the Gondorians and soon, for the few mares left in Minas Tirith would be soon in season, and the remainder geldings, with not a single Gondorian stallion to be found. 

 

This state of affairs greatly concerned Eowyn.  Fortunately, her brother would return today, and with any luck, Eomer might have retained his magnificent stallion, Firefoot.  If so, then perhaps she could convince her brother to forgo stud fees, and allow Firefoot to cover a majority of the Gondorian mares this season.  Most of the mares appeared decently bred.  Eowyn wandered over to the stallion barn, where the walls were higher and boxes larger, to select a box for her brother's mount.   There she discovered a lone chestnut gelding, a weedy underbred thing with a coarse head, thin neck, knobby knees, and dished hooves.  But when she approached the stall, the gelding turned to look at her with such a glint of intelligence in its eye, she smiled in pleasure. 

 

"What mount is this?" she asked a passing stableboy as she scratched the gelding's chin.  The horse stretched out its neck to her, huffing in enjoyment of her attentions.

 

"That's Lord Faramir's horse, m'lady."

 

"It is!"  Eowyn was amazed.  Surely Faramir rode a better mount no matter how intelligent this one was. 

 

The boy was eager to relate the tale.  "Aye, my lady.  Well, His lordship never had a mount what's his, really, bein’ a Ranger, and so when the order came to charge Osgiliath, the Lord comes in, and he looks around, and after a moment he walks up to old Sunny here and pats him, and says, 'I'll ride this one.'  We tack Sunny up, and out rides the Lord Faramir and all the soldiers."  This was said in a rush, and with all the enthusiasm of one who'd not yet had the chance to tell the tale himself.  "And we all wait and wait, and nobody comes back to tell us if the soldiers won, and soon we start seeing the black army of Mordor marching up to the very gates.  And right before the attack, the guards pull open the gate, and there's Sunny, coming home like the smart one he is, and he's dragging Lord Faramir along.  The lord is nigh dead, but good old Sunny knows his job, and he knows to find his own stable, and so he carefully brings His Lordship home.  And Prince Imrahil, well, he knows horses, that one does, and he takes up Lord Faramir, and as they go to take His Lordship up to the Houses of Healing, Prince Imrahil orders that someone bring Sunny up to the stables, and treat him real good, since Sunny's like to have saved His Lordship's life!"

 

Eowyn smiled and thanked the boy well for telling the tale.  As the boy scurried off to continue his chores, Eowyn caressed the gelding.  "Thank you, for bringing him home," she whispered.  "Had you not, I cannot think how much worse the world would be."  She caressed the horse, wondering at the weight on Faramir's heart, knowing he alone of all his command survived.

 

Sunny the gelding huffed and rubbed his poll against her shoulder, accepting the thanks as proper homage.

 

* * *

 

 

Faramir met with his archivists and Lord Hurin as his first duty of the day.   They soon came to the conclusion that their best course of action was to perform a proper coronation ceremony, without any acknowledgement of the centuries of rule by stewards. 

 

"I know it is sound reasoning," Hurin said, "but I cannot dismiss the obvious gratitude due the House of Hurin."  He gave Faramir an ironic smile, for though the majordomo shared the name, Lord Hurin was not a member of the House of Hurin, the bloodline of the Stewards of Gondor. 

 

But Faramir shook his head.  "I am grateful only that the King returned when he was most needed, that Sauron is destroyed and that Gondor shall once again have a rightful ruler upon the throne."   He dismissed the archivists, thanking them for their efforts in researching the information, and then returned to the conversation with Hurin.  "Think you that naught should change?"

 

"No!  No, I too am glad to see the King restored."

 

"Then we are well."  Faramir stood and moved to the window, again contemplating the gardens.  "Hurin, I am not suited to be Steward."

 

"On the contrary my lord, I think you are very much suited to it.  More so than your brother, I daresay."

 

Faramir might have smiled, though the expression more resembled a pained grimace.  "Perhaps.  But not a ruling Steward.  I have not the stomach for it."

 

"Did not you tell me that Lord Aragorn asked you to stay on as his steward, to assist in the ruling of the realm?"

 

"He did, but I'm minded to request that he relieve me of that duty."

 

Hurin met this pronouncement with silence.  After a long time, he commented, "Now that peace is upon us, it may be that a man could be free to follow his own wishes."  His tone indicated his reservations.

 

Faramir turned to the majordomo.  "You think I flee my duties like some recalcitrant lad?"

 

"No, my lord.  But I do think that perhaps you might wait and find out what sort of King Lord Aragorn may become, before making such decisions."  With that tactful suggestion, Hurin rose and bowed himself out of the room.

 

Almost immediately, a guard came in to report that the armies of the West had been sighted on the road from Osgiliath. 

 

"Good.  Send a page with the word to Lady Eowyn."  Faramir hurried towards the Steward's House to prepare for the imminent arrival.

 

* * *

 

Eowyn was on her way to the Citadel when a page found her, reporting that the armies were seen, and would soon arrive.  She glanced at the sky, realizing they arrived early.  But then, it was likely the men hardly rested at all the night before, being in sight of their home and loved ones.  No doubt they got an early start in their eagerness to be home. 

 

She promptly turned her path to the Houses of Healing, intending to wash herself quickly and dress appropriately for the occasion.  She was unsure of the customs in Gondor, but in Rohan, a victorious company was met with finery and feasting.  Eowyn herself intended to find a fine cup and finer ale with which to welcome her brother and King.   Hurrying from the bathing chambers to her room, she discovered a trio of servants awaiting her.  One of the women was faithful Tayriel.

 

"My lady!"  the girl cried.  "I am glad we found you in time."  She waved at the older of the two other women.  "This is my aunt Elsbeth.  And Savia here is also a seamstress."  Laid out on the bed were two gowns, one white with a very full skirt as if for riding, the second a formal gown of gold brocade so exquisite, Eowyn hardly dared to touch it.

 

"Come, we must try these on you," Elsbeth took control.  The white dress was fitted first, and as young Savia quickly made alterations to it, Elsbeth took a more thorough fitting on the gold brocade.  In the meantime, Tayriel sought out a large heavy cup for Eowyn's use.

 

"Where do these come from?"  Eowyn asked.

 

"The white is for today's celebrations," Tayriel explained, errand successful.  "It was found in the stores of the Citadel.  We had heard the Riders call you the White Lady, thus we thought it would suit.  The gold -" She hesitated, and Eowyn gave the girl a searching look.  "'Tis your Coronation gown, my lady.  The Lord Faramir ordered we make up new the finest gown we could for you."  Eowyn flushed at the implication.  Faramir was so kind, so good to her, to think of such things and order such a lovely gown for her.  But could it be that he admired her more than as a friend?  She resolved to find out as much as she could.

 

Soon, the white dress was finished, and Elsbeth and Savia departed with the gold.  Tayriel stayed to help Eowyn with her hair, brushing it quickly but thoroughly. 

 

"Tayriel, you have been long in service in the Citadel?"

 

"A few years, my lady."

 

"Hmm.  Tell me, why is it that Lord Faramir is not wed?  I find it odd."

 

Eowyn almost felt the girl smile behind her.  "Lord Faramir had the command of Ithilien.  He was rarely about the Citadel.  'Twas Lord Boromir who bore the brunt of Steward Denethor's speeches about heirs and bloodlines and duties to one's heritage."

 

Eowyn made some acknowledging noise.  The girl said nothing about arrangements or attachments, and were there any to know of, a gossiping household staff would have heard it. 

 

"There, my lady.  Now with the blue mantle, you will be a vision to the army indeed."  Tayriel offered a silvered glass to Eowyn, to view and approve the simple styling.  Braids from the sides held the rest back, worked with white ribbons. 

 

"My thanks, Tayriel."  She rose, smoothing the skirts of the white gown.  They were full enough that she might ride in them.  And on the heels of that thought, an apprentice tapped on the door, to say that the lord Faramir awaited her outside the Houses, just as she donned the blue mantle Faramir had given her.

 

Puzzled, Eowyn took up the cup and made her way out.   There stood Faramir, resplendent in a deep green surcote she clearly remembered selecting for him, with the reins of that disreputable gelding in one hand, and those of a fine bay mare in the other.

 

* * *

  
 

Faramir felt the breath leave his body when he saw Lady Eowyn emerge from the Houses.  A vision in white and blue, her golden hair shining, Eowyn seemed to him a gift of the Valar, a goddess, a legendary elven beauty come to life.  He could only stare as she approached, his talent for words utterly failing him.  She wore his mother's mantle, and his heart swelled with love for her, that she would honor him by doing so.

 

When she reached him, he finally could breathe in, as if he could draw in the essence of her.  Everything about this woman, from the spark in her eyes to her bitten nails enchanted him.  He dared not woo her, for he still suspected there was some understanding between her and Lord Aragorn, but how he wished for that fortune for himself.

 

"My lord?"  She asked at last, and he remembered himself.

 

"Will you ride with me to the gates, my lady?  To greet our people returned victorious?"

 

Her face lit with a smile, and she quickly handed him a large cup she bore, the easier to mount the mare.  Faramir had hoped to discover if her own horse survived the Pelennor Fields, but time grew short, and he simply selected as well bred a mare as he could find.  As she walked by his horse, she gave the gelding a fond scratch.

 

"Would you prefer the gelding, my lady," he asked, but Eowyn shook her head. 

 

"No, thank you, though Sunny and I are well acquainted."  She mounted the mare with no visible effort, and took back the cup from him.  "I must stop to find ale.  Mead would be better, but ale will do."

 

Faramir found his seat atop his gelding and replied, "There is a brewer on the fourth level who can provide us a bottle of honey wine."  He recognized her request from customs of Rohan he had read about.

 

They rode quickly down, pausing only to collect the mead.   They timed their trip well, for the streets were filling with people eager to welcome the armies home.   The leaders of the army of the West were in shouting distance of the gates when Faramir drew his mount to a halt before the great statue of Atanatar II Alcarin, indicating Eowyn to stop on his right, a position of honor.   She did not seem to notice though, her eyes fixed on the forms approaching, some mounted and hundreds afoot.  Faramir nodded to his cousins Amrothos and Lothiriel nearby, the lady appearing likely to leap from her palfrey and run to the still gate-less arch to hasten the arrival.

 

At last, Lord Aragorn, accompanied by Eomer-King, Prince Legolas and Lord Gimli, the hobbits Meriadoc and Peregrin, Prince Imrahil and several mounted officers of both Gondor and Rohan, entered through the great arch, and a tremendous cheer rose from the crowds around the great square, flowers flung into the air, and hundreds of hands raised to welcome the army home.  Lord Aragorn rode right up to Faramir, and the Steward could see the King fought to keep a serious expression on his face.  

 

"Welcome home, my King," Faramir said loudly and clearly, that all might hear and recognize their new ruler. 

 

"I thank you," Aragorn replied, finally loosing the battle with solemnity.  A grin spread across his face.  "'Tis good to be home!"  His smile seemed to be the signal, for the foot soldiers surged inwards, merging with the crowds in the city, cries of relief and joy filling the air.

 

Faramir caught a glimpse of Eowyn slipping from her mount and approaching a stern and doughty Rohirrim warrior, cup outstretched.  He could not hear the words, but the man accepted the cup and drank deeply, then promptly dropped it and lifted Eowyn into the air, roaring something in Rohirric in a glad voice.  Faramir was then distracted by the sudden appearance of Mithrandir, who greeted the King and his companions with pleasure.   The whirlwind of happy reunions continued.  Faramir was embraced by his uncle Imrahil, the prince laughing as he was soon dragged away by his children. 

 

A sudden pull on his coat drew Faramir's attention down, to find Peregrin beside him.  With a smile, Faramir knelt before his Citadel Guard.  "I am glad to see you are well, Peregrin."

 

Unabashed, the hobbit flung his arms around Faramir, hugging the bigger man as hard as he could.   "Oh, friend Faramir, it IS good to see you looking well.  Wait to you hear the tale.  I killed a troll."

 

"You did?"

 

"Aye, and so Merry cannot claim all the glory, stabbing wraiths and all that, no matter what he says."   Faramir glanced around for the other hobbit, and spotted Meriadoc with Eowyn and the warrior who surely must be Eomer-King.

 

"I look forward to the tale, Peregrin."   Faramir promised to hear all, then made his way back to the side of the King.   For a brief moment, as he watched his uncle present his cousins to Lord Aragorn, Faramir felt a strange disconnection, as if he were watching the performance of mummers before him.  Those that rode together to the Gate embraced each other and those who waited behind in the City.   People cheered and danced in the streets.  And yet, the Steward of Gondor stood alone in a small circle of silence.   Then the moment passed as Aragorn turned to him, smiling.

 

"Pray tell me, good Faramir, that at the least, we weary Walkers might find a bath and a bit of sustenance soon."

 

With a small smile for his King's jest, Faramir replied, "If you would ride up, my King, the Citadel awaits.  Baths, clean garments, food, and soft beds are prepared."

 

"Och, laddie, now that's what we like to hear!" the dwarf bellowed, slapping Faramir's back with an excess of both cheer and force.  The Steward staggered and winced, the blow sending pain through his wounds for the first time in days.  

 

Aragorn caught the look and laid a hand on Faramir's arm.  "You are healing well?" he asked.

 

"I am, my lord.  I was not properly braced for Lord Gimli's…. appreciation." 

 

" _Dwarves_ ," a soft voice came from Faramir's left, speaking in the elvish tongue, " _can be careless in their affections._ "   Faramir turned to meet the humorous smile of Prince Legolas.  " _But that does not mean they are fickle in their loyalties._ "

 

Faramir paused before replying, awed at his first sight of one of the Fair Folk.  " _If I have earned the loyalty of one as renowned as Lord Gimli, I should count myself fortunate the rest of my days,_ " he answered in the same tongue.

 

Legolas's smile broadened.  "Your accent in atrocious, friend."

 

Faramir was initially mortified, but beside him Aragorn chuckled.  "Legolas only teases those he likes, Faramir, fear not."   Swept along by the remnants of the Fellowship, accepted into their circle, Faramir traveled with them up the levels of Minas Tirith, until at last they surrendered their mounts and walked through the tunnel to the Citadel courtyard. 

 

There, Aragorn paused, a satisfied smile upon his face.  Next to him, Faramir noticed his King's halt, then turned to look where the King did.  He gave a sudden wordless cry of surprise that drew the attention of all.

 

"What is it, lad?"  Gimli asked. 

 

"The Tree," Faramir whispered.  He glanced at Aragorn in amazement, but quickly turned back to the White Tree.  "The Tree blooms at last."  Nearly a dozen translucent blooms had opened, and more buds could be seen decorating the branches of the seemingly dead tree.

 

Faramir went to his knee before Aragorn in homage, unable to articulate all that he felt at that moment, seeing true proof of the Crown Renewed, the King Returned, and Gondor restored.   Aragorn did not leave him kneeling long, but quickly drew the Steward up and embraced him, before leading Faramir past the Tree and towards the King's House.  

 

"You did say baths, did you not?"  Aragorn asked as they walked.

 

* * *

 

 

Eowyn could not help but smile at her brother as they rode up the levels, and her smile only widened at his bemused expression.  "What puzzles you so, my brother?" she asked in their native tongue.

 

"I cannot remember the last time I saw you smile like that," Eomer replied, and to Eowyn's amazement, his voice was choked with tears. 

 

She immediately reached across their mounts to grasp his hand in hers.  As children, they had been as close as twins, for all that Eomer was three years older.  She had thought that he had not realized the darkness under which she had fallen in the years of Theoden's illness, but she should have had faith in her beloved brother.  Now they smiled at each other, communicating in their silent way, reassuring each other of health and happiness.

 

And if a corner of Eowyn's heart was reserved still in grief, she hid it well.

 

She had seen how well Faramir had been greeted by the King and others, and it warmed her heart to see him so appreciated, for she had feared that with no immediate loved ones to welcome home, there might be some awkwardness for her friend.  But instead, she'd seen him embraced by the King, and his uncle the Prince, and even speaking with Peregrin. 

 

Arriving at the tunnel to the seventh level, they dismounted.  Eowyn spotted her young stableboy, and immediately commandeered him.   "Here, boy.  Take charge of Firefoot and this good lady.  Do put Firefoot near to Sunny, would you?"

 

The boy bobbed a deep bow to her, a clear expression of worship on his face.  "As you command, my lady."  Taking the horses, he led them away with clucks and kind words, as Eomer chuckled.

 

"It seems you have made a conquest, sister."

 

Eowyn lightly struck her brother in the arm, a response to teasing from their childhood.  With a laugh, Eomer drew her close and kept his arm around her as they walked up the tunnel.

 

Most of the grand personages had already made their way to the King's House, Faramir among them Eowyn assumed.   She did see Prince Imrahil with his children making their way to the Steward's House, and to her surprise, the Princess Lothiriel waved merrily to her.

 

"Who is the lady?" Eomer asked.

 

"The Princess Lothiriel, daughter to Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth."

 

"Imrahil is an excellent man," Eomer announced as they walked to the King's House.  Eowyn had arranged her brother's rooms there.  "He is the finest rider I've seen in Gondor, and his troops, the Swan Knights, the best cavalry in Aragorn's kingdom.  I'm minded to offer stud fees for Imrahil's grey stallion.  He's a very fine mover." 

 

Eowyn, knowing every detail of the organization of the King's House, as she'd had the ordering of it, conducted her brother to a suite on the second level.  Knowing his feelings about any height above that of his horse's back, Eomer's rooms overlooked the gardens, which only now began to brighten in the restored sunlight, rather than the steep drop to the City's sixth level.  A bathing chamber was attached to the room, and the tub was already filled with warm water.   Eowyn waited as her brother bathed, examining the embroidery on the green tunic laid out on the table.  The seamstresses had worked themselves to the bone, and Eowyn made herself a promise to see that all were rewarded somehow.  She intended to speak to Faramir about it.

 

The thought of Lord Faramir drew her mind back to the moment she'd seen him outside the Houses of Healing.  It had been the first moment she'd seen him since she'd fled his presence the day before.  He did not allude to that incident at all, but merely invited her to ride with him.  There had been a moment, when she'd first approached him, where his eyes seemed to rove over her, and not in the way that Grima Wormtongue had done so, with lust and possessiveness in his gaze, but with admiration and reverence, that made Eowyn feel like the highest Lady upon Arda.   Trailing her fingers along the velvet, in her mind's eye it took on a darker green, like the color of Faramir's surcote, and most unlike herself, she imagined touching him in place of her brother's tunic. 

 

She had gleaned from Tayriel's comments earlier that no intentions between Faramir and Lothiriel had ever been discussed in the Citadel, though it was possible that any understanding between them had been kept secret.  Part of Eowyn hoped that perhaps there was nothing between them, given the way Faramir had looked at her before.

 

She suddenly paused, lifting her hand at a surprising thought.  Faramir had no idea of her regard for him.  Eowyn had made a habit of reserved expression, the better to protect herself from Wormtongue.  Whenever that evil man had seen that his words affected her, he would push her further and further.  So in defense, Eowyn made certain to keep her emotions hidden.  Even yesterday, she had struggled to show Faramir that she appreciated his sympathy and support, determined as she had been to hide her love for him. 

 

She could hear Eomer finishing his ablutions, and wished suddenly for a sister, her mother, any woman that she might trust enough to confide in, to ask advice.  Gathering the new garments, she held them out for Eomer when he emerged, flushed and with golden hair gleaming.  He thanked her and dressed quickly, planting a brotherly kiss on her cheek when she moved behind him to brush his hair.

 

"There is a feast prepared for the fifth hour, and the celebrations are likely to last into the night.  As the coronation will be a solemn affair, according to Gondor's traditions, this evening is like to be as festive as one of our own celebrations," Eowyn informed her brother, "or so the maids tell me.  Barrel upon barrel of ale has been brought up.  It's not as robust as our own -- these Gondorians prefer wine from the south."

 

Eomer tipped his head back to smile at her.  "I am glad to hear you speak so warmly, and see you smile so freely, that I shall drink every cup to Bema in thanks."  Moved by her brother's love for her, Eowyn embraced him tightly.  "So tell me, sister, what or whom has affected this transformation, for when we left for the Gate, I feared the dark shadow might never leave you."

 

Eowyn sat next to Eomer, leaning her head against his strong shoulder.  "Brother, in truth, I did not think I would ever escape my despair.  But I made a friend here, and through his support and kindness, I have found my pride and honor again, and a measure of happiness to sustain me."

 

"His?"  Eomer asked, his voice mockingly stern.

 

"Yes, his, brother.  The Lord Faramir has been most kind and attentive.  And moreover, he has entrusted me to act as his adjutant," she showed him the Steward's signet, "and gave over the ordering of this house and the Citadel to my care.  He also had me supervise the matters of their horses, and I must remember to speak to you about that, for I think we should consider selling some of the herds to Gondor, and perhaps you would let Firefoot cover some of the mares here?  A number will come into season shortly."

 

"Enough, enough!" Eomer cried, laughing.  "Truly, the Steward has worked wonders, for I see you have not only regained your strength, but your single-mindedness as well."  Laughing together, the King of Rohan and his sister made their way to the salons of the King's House, where the triumphant nobles of the day were gathered.

 

But after a moment, as Eomer joked with Aragorn, and others milled about, talking and laughing, Eowyn noticed one figure missing from the happy gathering.  She did not see Faramir anywhere.

 

Slipping away, she made her way out of the King's House.  She went first to the small office, but it was empty.  As she left the hall, a voice called out to her.

 

The portly majordomo, Lord Hurin she remembered he was called, was nearby.  "My lady," he greeted her, bowing deeply. 

 

"My lord."  She curtsied briefly.  "Have you seen Lord Faramir?" she asked.

 

The lord Hurin hesitated.  "I have not spoken with the Lord Steward since this morning, my lady."

 

"Oh.  Well, thank you."  Eowyn left the portly majordomo behind, wondering at his wording.  Perhaps he had seen Faramir, but didn't want to tell her.  Could Faramir be avoiding her for some reason? 

 

* * *

 

It had been a thoughtless thing for Gimli to say, but the dwarf could be forgiven for not realizing the impact of his words.  A careless comment about Boromir, surely meant as a jest, yet the words had pierced Faramir like the arrows that the Healers had removed from his flesh.  He couldn't even remember the exact wording now, having immediately removed himself from the King's House under some false pretence.  He'd made some excuse and left, fairly certain that no one had noticed particularly. 

 

Faramir found himself standing in the doorway of Boromir's room.  The chambers had been kept clean, but elements of his brother's inherent sloppiness still pervaded the space.  Only here did Boromir ever relax.  On those rare occasions where both sons of Denethor were in residence, and no formal event required their presence, they would lounge in this room, playing games of strategy on the floor before the great hearth, joking and wrestling, and carrying on. 

 

Faramir staggered forward in to the dark room, no fire crackling in the hearth now.   "Oh my brother." he gasped, falling to his knees beside the huge bed.  He buried his face against the bedclothes, but no sound of sobs broke the silence, only the gasps of a man who wishes to sob, yet cannot.  Even now, Faramir could not give voice to his grief.  The expectation of his father's reprisal still hovered over him, and he could not but doubt his own every move, as if awaiting the summons to that small office and the inevitable disapproval from Denethor. 

 

"How am I to bear this?" Faramir asked the darkness, as if the shade of Boromir might provide some answer.

 

* * *

 

Eowyn stood staring at the Tree of Gondor.  Now miraculously blooming, the Tree seemed to give off a soft glow in the dimming light of the evening hours.  She had not been able to find Faramir. 

 

"My lady," a soft voice came from behind her.  Eowyn turned to find the Princess Lothiriel standing nearby.  "Lady Eowyn," Lothiriel began, coming closer.  "I hope that we might become friends?  There are few ladies of rank these days in Gondor, and none others to match your rank in Rohan, I am given to understand.  It would be a comfort to have another lady with which to enjoy these celebrations."

 

Eowyn knew not how to respond to such a speech.  Suspicious, thinking that Lothiriel perhaps meant to mock her, she replied, "I have little time for frivolous pursuits.  As Adjutant, I must be about those duties given to me.  And too, my brother the King will wish to leave soon for Rohan.  There is much to be done to restore our lands."

 

"Oh."  Lothiriel seemed taken aback.  "I am sorry, my lady, if I offended.  I thought -- but it is nothing."  She started to leave, then suddenly turned again.  "Lady Eowyn?  Are you in love with my cousin?"

 

"What?" Eowyn gasped, shocked by the blunt question from a woman that seemed to project such courtly manners.

 

"I only ask, because you've been so cold to me, and I thought that perhaps you felt jealousy at Faramir's kind affection for me.  But be assured, it is only the indulgent warmth of a gentle man towards a much younger cousin."  Lothiriel giggled, "And in truth, he is very much in love with you."

 

"What!"  Eowyn could not seem to find any other words to respond.

 

Lothiriel giggled again, and linking her arm through Eowyn's, led the shocked Shieldmaiden to a bench along the edge of the courtyard.  "Tis too true," Lothiriel confided.  "My brother and I are quite certain of it.  But you must tell me quickly if you do not feel any regard for Faramir, for then I shall have to work to turn his thoughts and heart away from you."  She paused, and then went on in a much more serious tone, "He has been too hurt, in life and in losses.  I fear my cousin may be wounded in ways I could not even understand.  But he looks at you, and I see something in his eyes I've only seen when my brother Elphir looks at his wife and his son.  Something I assume my father felt when my mother still lived."  She stopped, waiting for Eowyn's response.

 

Still unsettled by the suddenness of the conversation, Eowyn had to collect her thoughts.  "I am not given to such declarations.  I feel …. a very great regard for Lord Faramir."  Yet something must have shone through her expression, for the princess began to smile at her.

 

"I am glad.  Faramir deserves all the happiness in the world, as I am sure you do as well.  It would be good to have even more joy to celebrate, would it not?"

 

At that moment, the criers of the Citadel began calling the people to the Celebration Feast that Eowyn herself had ordered.  People poured out of the King's House, as nobles began arriving through the tunnel.  Almost unnoticed, a lone figure separated from the group crossing the courtyard from King's House to Great Hall, and hurried towards the Steward's House.  But before the figure could reach it, another lone man exited the Steward's House.  Eowyn saw immediately that the new person was Faramir.  She had checked the Steward's House, but to be sure she did not know every part of it.  She watched, recognizing Lord Aragorn, as the two men met.  Faramir bowed, and made some comment, but Aragorn only grasped the Steward's shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie, and drew Faramir towards the Great Hall.

 

"Come," Lothiriel said, rising.  "We should hurry.  It would not do to leave the Hall without beautiful ladies to adorn it."  She smiled again at Eowyn's scandalized expression.  "I will bet you a new necklace my father makes a similar comment the moment we enter."

 

Drawn in by the princess's merry demeanor, Eowyn replied, "Make it a necklace and a dagger that my brother beats him to it."

 

* * *

 

Lord Aragorn ignored tradition and seated himself a few chairs to the right of the center seat.  Legolas and Mithrandir promptly sat to Aragorn's left side, between him and the High Seat, as Gimli and Eomer took the right.  That left the center seat open.  Faramir frowned at this breach of etiquette.  He was certain the intended arrangement had Aragorn in the center seat, the future King seated in the position of power.   He had to struggle to keep his expression still as Pippin claimed the center seat, starting up some tale to Mithrandir, and Merry clambered into the seat just to Pippin's left, the seat that would normally be for the Heir, or the Steward's Heir. 

 

"Plans are for naught, if execution be faulty," Amrothos said in Faramir's ear.  He stood just behind his cousin, observing the seating rearrangement over Faramir's shoulder.  "I do believe Lord Aragorn is attempting to make a point."

 

"What point do you suppose that is?"  Faramir asked.  He knew Amrothos to be a cunning observer of mankind.

 

"Perhaps that he is not yet King?  That he does not wish to be so hasty in his claims.  That he prefers a certain level of informality.  Look you," Amrothos indicated the future King as several courtiers bowed before him.  "He asks their names, and sees who is worthy, and who is a toady."

 

Faramir could not restrain a sound of amusement for Amrothos's assessment.  The parade of nobles of Gondor went on, each introducing himself before Aragorn, and either greeted politely yet distantly, or greeted warmly.  Faramir knew which received warm treatment -- he had been careful to send such vital information to Lord Aragorn the day before, and was relieved to see that Aragorn had clearly read and absorbed the information.

 

Suddenly, the activity was halted.  Lady Eowyn and Princess Lothiriel had entered, approaching the high table.  Both curtsied before Aragorn, then Eomer leaned forward to make some comment.  Whatever it was, both ladies laughed, and Eowyn said something to Lothiriel that made the younger lady smile broadly. 

 

"Lothiriel has gotten her claws into Lady Eowyn!" Amrothos mock-wailed.  "The Valar preserve us!"

 

"You are more like to see Lothiriel with a sword than Lady Eowyn devastating an array of merchants."  Faramir replied with his eyes fixed on the Lady of Rohan.  She still wore the white gown and his mother's blue mantle.  Then the lady turned, and for a moment, all Arda disappeared for Faramir, because her eyes met his, and a smile graced her lips.  Then she turned, and made for the seat across from her brother.  Lothiriel took the chair to Eowyn's left, and Imrahil sat beside Lothiriel.

 

"Come, let us join my father," Amrothos said. 

 

"You go.  The table is unbalanced.  I shall take my normal seat."  Faramir crossed the floor, nodding respectfully to Aragorn, Eomer, and Mithrandir, to seat himself three chairs to the left of center.  That put an empty space between himself and Merry, where Lord Hurin normally sat.  Denethor's table had been an exercise in power politics.  Denethor sat center, with Boromir to his immediate left, as Heir.  To his right was whatever honored guest necessitated a formal arrangement, most often Faramir's uncle Prince Imrahil.   Next to Boromir sat Lord Hurin, and then Faramir.  The arrangement was subtly insulting to Faramir, though the younger son never once voiced his awareness of that fact.  To place a son, no matter second or twenty second, below the majordomo, was almost to say that Faramir's rank as son was less important than his place as a Captain of Gondor.  To have seated Faramir at a lower table would have been even more blatant, but even Denethor did not risk public opinion so openly.

 

Faramir heard the quiet shift of conversation from other parts of the table.  Lady Eowyn had ingeniously rearranged the seating of the nobles' tables, creating a large square with both outer and inner seating.  Therefore, there were more seats in the traditionally 'higher' positions, a seating arrangement more suited to informal Rohan than traditional Gondor, but Faramir noted that those that counted seemed to approve of the new arrangement.  He made careful note of those whose expressions indicated dissatisfaction, and how often they spoke with their fellows, and how quietly.

 

* * *

 

Eowyn had been certain that Faramir would join her at the table, but instead, he seemed to seat himself apart, as if disassociating himself from the crowd of returned heroes.  She frowned, briefly concerned at the perceived separation, until a noble of clear Numenorean blood greeted the Steward, and was invited to sit. 

 

"The heir of Lord Forlong, who fell before the City," Imrahil commented quietly, proving he too had noticed his nephew's separation.  "A brilliant fellow, devoted to his father and lands.  He was close companion to Boromir in their youth."

 

"There is some consolation, that not all who were beloved, fell," Lothiriel replied quietly.

 

Amrothos gave his sister a sad smile, and rising, moved to reseat himself in the empty chair between Merry and Faramir.

 

Soon the meal was served, and for all that the fare was simple, it was hearty and well prepared, and conversations became scattered as feasters turned their attention to the meal.  In time though, needs were filled, and ale flowed freely as conversations turned lively again.  Laughter rang in the Hall, and Eowyn began to relax as the evening progressed.

 

Soon, musicians began to play, and as plates were removed, tables were cheerfully set aside to allow room for dancing.   A sprightly tune moved Eomer to draw his sister onto the floor, and soon the room was awhirl with movement.   Gimli too danced with Eowyn, and her hand was claimed separately by Pippin and Merry, by Prince Imrahil and by Prince Amrothos.   During one stately piece, Legolas deigned to conduct her around the floor, and as they danced, Eowyn caught brief sight of Faramir, staring at her from a knot of Gondorian nobles.

 

* * *

 

His heart ached within his chest at the sight of her, smiling and laughing as she spun about the floor.  But all too soon, other couples impeded his view, and Faramir returned his attention to the nobles before him.   

 

Not long after the meal had finished, Faramir had risen to move among the lords of Gondor assembled, speaking smoothly and politely with all.   Using all his gifts of diplomacy and insight, he soothed offended feelings, subtly bolstered the King's standing in their eyes, and reinforced the idea of the Crown Restored. 

 

Finally released by one garrulous Councilor, Faramir took the opportunity to refill his goblet with wine and water.

 

"A working meal, I see, my cousin," Amrothos said to him, joining him at the sideboard. 

 

"Necessary.  I have been working since the Dark Tower fell," Faramir replied ruefully.

 

"Take an evening, then!  I will fetch Lothiriel for you to steer around the floor a bit.  Or perhaps, another lady would suit better?"

 

Faramir only returned his cousin's sly expression with a still and calm one of his own.  The music changed, and he turned his attention back to the floor.  It was at that moment that Lord Aragorn extended his hand to Lady Eowyn, and led her to the floor.   Faramir's heart sank to see them, the noble future King and wondrous Lady.   Clearly, Aragorn was well familiar with the steps of the dance, and the pair moved with grace.  Faramir glanced about the hall, taking in the expression of pleasure on Eomer-King, the approving glances of the Gondorian nobles.   Rising, Faramir said, "Excuse me, cousin, I am reminded of several orders I must see to."   His hand tight about his cup, Faramir swiftly escaped the hall.

 

In the cooler breezes of the night, he crossed the courtyard to stand by the retaining wall not far from his own House.  There, he swallowed a great deal of his wine, wishing he had not watered it so sensibly. 

 

Though the night was still, the stone of the City muffled the sounds of revelry, and so Faramir was greatly startled when Prince Legolas appeared by his side.

 

"Peace, friend," the elf said, holding up a hand.  With a small smirk for Faramir's surprise, Legolas continued, "Few there are that can hear the approach of the Elves, and most of those, Elves themselves."

 

The elven prince's smile widened, and Faramir realized that a common elven jest must be buried in the comment, but he was not of a mood to inquire.

 

They stood in silence for a while, each gazing upon the stars.

 

Finally, it was Prince Legolas that spoke first.  "There is a Lady," he said quietly.

 

"Your Highness?"

 

"There is a Lady," the elf repeated.  "He thinks her fled, sailing to the West."   He turned to Faramir, his eyes alight with sly amusement.  "He will be surprised."   The prince walked away, leaving the Steward to stare after him, wondering if he dared interpret that unsubtle message.

 

* * *

 

Eowyn clung to her civility, using Lothiriel as an example, through several dances with Gondorian nobles, until the majority of revelers began to depart in the growing dark. She reclaimed her ale from Eomer, drinking deep.

 

"You are well again," Eomer said, smiling at his sister with love in his eyes.  She embraced him fondly.  "Come," he said, "Introduce me to this paragon that has restored my sister to the Light!"

 

Eowyn laughed, but could not see Lord Faramir in the hall.   She longed to see him, had hoped that he would claim her hand for a dance, but he had not.  Quickly, she noted Lothiriel leaving on her brother's arm.

 

"Did you meet Princess Lothiriel?" she asked her brother. 

 

To her amazement, Eomer flushed before replying.  "I did, her father introduced us.  She is," he hesitated, "a very lovely girl."

 

Such a statement was so different than her brother's usually bawdy assessments of women in his acquaintance that Eowyn chuckled.  Before she could reply, a maid curtsied before her. 

 

"My lady, your things have been moved to the King's House, to the suite adjoining His Majesty Eomer-King."

 

"On whose authority?"  Eowyn asked, startled.

 

"His Lordship, the Steward, my lady," the girl replied before hurrying away.

 

Eomer frowned.  "That is not presumptuous?  I would have you near to me of course, but to move your chambers and not discuss it?"

 

Eowyn shook her head.  "No dear brother.  He is merely making sure I am comfortable, and do not have to return to the Houses of Healing for rest."

 

"You were still residing in the Houses?  But you seem so much healed?"  Concern colored Eomer's voice.  "I thought you would have chambers here in the Citadel."

 

"Oh Eomer, you know that is not proper, when I had no guardian here.  These Gondorians, they are very concerned with propriety.  Had I taken residence in the King's House, they'd have me wed to Aragorn by now!"

 

"I had thought you had chambers in the Steward's House."

 

Eowyn could think of no response to Eomer's assessment.  She looked at him, surprised.  Finally, it was Eomer who spoke.  "I am sorry, my sister.  I had thought - you spoke warmly of Lord Faramir.  I mean, I do not mean - "

 

"Peace, brother."  She laid a hand on his arm affectionately.  "Come, let us retire for the evening."

 

* * *

 

Faramir watched from the shadows of the Steward's House, noting carefully who left together, and overhearing what conversations he could.  The information would be vital to King Aragorn, used to consolidate his rule and forestall any dissention. 

 

So it was that he observed Lady Eowyn and Eomer-King leaving the hall.  He watched as the two golden haired Rohirrim crossed the courtyard, their voices too low for him to discern.  Lady Eowyn drew the blue mantle closer about her frame, and Faramir envied the cloth for its warming embrace.

 


	5. Chapter 5

The doors to the Council chamber burst open, crashing against the walls that framed them. Striding from the room came Lord Aragorn and Faramir in step, the former serious and solemn, the latter furious. Swiftly on their heels came Eomer-King, Prince Imrahil, and Lord Hurin.

The group crossed the courtyard at speed, entering the King's House and headed directly for the rear salon that Aragorn favored.

"Ale! Wine! Mead!" Eomer roared at the startled maids.

"Which, my lord?" one asked in a frightened voice.

"All of them! Any of them!" Eomer shouted back, before slamming the door of the salon shut.

Aragorn seated himself with relief, but Faramir began to pace.

"I can not believe it! I had thought that all resistance had been eliminated." He turned to Aragorn, his expression supplicating. "My lord, you must know that I flatly refuse to even discuss the idea, let alone support it." A timid tap at the door preceded a trio of maids who brought bottles and goblets and departed hastily. Free to speak candidly again, Faramir continued, "Lord Alcar is mad if he thinks this a sensible option." He went to one knee before Aragorn. "My lord, you must know how sorry I am."

"Peace, Faramir." Aragorn said, smiling. "I know you support my claim to the throne. You've only been rearranging the City in preparation for days now! I imagine you want me crowned and seated so you can escape to Ithilien as soon as possible. Not that I would gainsay that impulse."

The door opened again, admitting Legolas and Gimli. "What has happened? You have disturbed the staff," the elf asked.

"One Lord Alcar, with a surprising number of supporters, has proposed that Aragorn has no right to the throne of Gondor, being Isildur's Heir, not Anarion's, and that Lord Faramir should take up the mantle of Ruling Steward, or the Crown itself, whichever suits," Imrahil succinctly explained.

"Did he now?" Gimli said, amused.

"That he had any supporters at all is disconcerting," observed Lord Hurin.

"Politics," Eomer pronounced, disgust in his voice.

"It's utter madness, of course," Faramir agreed with the King of Rohan. Then a hard expression stole across his face. "But I know how to ensure it stays quiet." He crossed the room to a desk, and drawing about a piece of parchment, began to write.

"What is that?" Aragorn asked.

"Lord Alcar's father in law is about to find out some rather unpleasant information about the funds he entrusted to his son in law." Faramir replied as he wrote.

All around the room were shocked. "No, Faramir," Aragorn said quickly, halting the Steward's work. "No," he continued more softly. "We cannot begin like that."

"Kicking the horse only encourages it," Eomer agreed.

All in the room had grown to feel a close companionship over the last few days. Once Lord Frodo had awoken the morning after the hosts arrived home, the heroes of the War had come alive, and through periods of work, friendly bouts of sparring, and times of leisure, all had learned to respect one another. Faramir's sudden plan to blackmail the councilman not only startled but surprised them all.

"That was Denethor's way, nephew," Imrahil said, his voice gently chiding, and Faramir covered his face with his hands.

"Forgive me, my lords," he begged, his voice muffled. Rising slowly, he drew the parchment close to a candle's flame, and watched it burn. As the ashes fell into the wax, he rubbed his shoulder absently.

"Faramir." Aragorn stood, approaching his Steward with a frown. "When was the last time you slept a full night?"

With a small smile, Faramir replied ruefully, "Some time before Boromir left for Rivendell, my lord."

Aragorn laid his hand against Faramir's shoulder, and Faramir felt some of the fatigue and pain he'd labored under leave him. "You should rest. Do no work for the rest of the day."

"We'll ride!" Eomer declared, looking eager for agreement.

"What shall be done about the Council?" Imrahil asked.

Faramir felt a sudden inspiration. "Nothing."

"What?"

"We do nothing. The Council was instituted by Cirion, in the days before the Rohirrim rode down from the North and rescued Gondor. It is a thing of the Stewards."

"Sweep it away?" exclaimed Imrahil.

"Yes." Faramir began to pace again, energized anew. "We certainly left Alcar and the others with no doubts as to our opinion of his suggestion. The coronation is tomorrow! Aragorn will be crowned as planned. At which point, he is King, and may continue or disband the Council as he sees fit."

Aragorn began to shake his head, but Lord Hurin spoke up. "'Tis brilliant. Once the crown sits upon a brow once more, they'll fall into line. Especially if they think their positions are tenuous."

Aragorn frowned. "I do not wish to appear threatening."

"Of course not." Faramir explained, "But they are well aware of the history of the Council, and if we but insinuate that you might consider a more traditional rule, they will quickly cease this pointless testing of your resolve. Those with sense will speak up when necessary or when truly concerned. Those without, we will encourage to consider retirement after a time."

Aragorn nodded, pleased with the wisdom of this more levelheaded advise, when a new tap on the door was heard. "My lord Aragorn, the seamstresses would like a moment for your final fitting, if that is possible?" asked a maid.

Aragorn rolled his eyes. "The Valar protect me."

"It is settled then?" Faramir asked.

"Yes, yes, that seems for the best." Aragorn gave Faramir a swift smile and made for the door.

"Here, I shall accompany you, for support." Legolas said, his voice teasing as he followed Aragorn.

"Harumph. I'd better go too, lest you end dolled up like an elf!" Gimli quickly hurried after them.

Hurin bowed and made his excuses as Eomer rose. "So, we ride then?" Eomer asked eagerly.

"I think my nephew could use some rest. You and I should be enough to match across the fields. Perhaps, to the port and back?" Imrahil steered the young King out of the salon. Eomer paused to glance back at Faramir.

"You will not join us?" Eomer asked plaintively.

Faramir smiled. He'd come to admire the reckless cheer of Rohan's King, finding in Eomer something of how he himself might have been, had life been different for the Steward's second son. "Another time."

They departed, and Faramir sank to a chair, alone. He wondered how it was that an impulse to blackmail Lord Alcar, and so control the Council in such a fashion, had come to his mind. He was not so underhanded. Yet at that moment, it had seemed a most sensible action. Certainly his temper, normally even and boundless, had been tried these last few days, as the lords of Gondor tested the resolve of both Steward and King. But to even suggest that the House of Hurin should rule formally, that Faramir would even remotely consider such an action, was in fact the height of foolishness. Faramir carefully considered his own words and actions over the last few days. He comforted himself that nothing he had done could have given the slightest impression that he, as rightful Steward, did not fully support Lord Aragorn's claim, and decided that Lord Alcar's proposal was merely a test or a wild attempt to derail the proceedings. And yet, why would the man do so? It was in the best interests of all that Aragorn be crowned. Certainly the blooming Tree was a sign of that. As for his own initial idea to control Alcar, he could only admit that he was indeed very tired, and in some pain. He'd found little sleep over the last three days, spending long hours in meetings both private and public, shoring up Aragorn's support. Could it be that he had it within himself to become as bleak and bitter a man as his father? He had not thought so, but as the prospect of long and difficult years of diplomatic service stretched before him, Faramir wondered what solace and strength he might find, in order to endure.

Power corrupts, he reminded himself as a warning, eyes closed, seeking relaxation.

 

* * *

 

"Yes, that's perfect." Eowyn nodded her approval of the garments prepared for Lord Faramir for tomorrow's ceremonies. The midnight trews and tunic matched well with the black velvet surcote, and embroideries of white and gold flowers on the surcote highlighted the gold quilting of the tunic sleeves, and matched the trim of Faramir's mother's mantle, which Eowyn would insist complete his wardrobe. She meant it as her token of regard to him. Since he had gifted the mantle to her, she saw it as her own. In Rohan, such actions as bestowing one's own cloak upon a knight were signs of a lady's favor. "A manservant will see to the polishing of his armor? Good."

 

Her brother's crimson tunic glittered with gold embroideries, and leatherworkers had already repainted and waxed his armor. Seamstresses were at this moment finishing Aragorn's robes. While Faramir and Aragorn saw to the politics and ceremony of the coming coronation, Eowyn commanded a battalion of servitors with mastery, ensuring the finery and feasting to be of the highest level. She did not for once feel wasted as only the mistress of the house, but rather, she fancied herself as responsible as Faramir for the ordering of the occasion. And in truth, whenever she thought on her motivations, it was her love for Faramir that drove her onward, that his burdens be lessened by her work. Twice since the King had come home she'd met with Faramir, to appraise him of her progress, and after both lengthy sessions of consultation, having discussed a number of matters of Citadel and even City management with her, and listened carefully to her advise, he had thanked her gratefully and praised her work. Both times, as she'd left his office, she'd paused to look back, to find him watching her, and when their eyes met, she'd felt such a longing for him, she could not believe he did not see in her face.

And yet Faramir continued to be scrupulously courteous, proper and polite, never once even hinting at great regard. He expressed his admiration for her skills freely, but no words of love for her passed his lips. She wondered if he could be so calm, he must not have any feelings for her.

Her final approvals on the garments complete, Eowyn dismissed the staff and made her way through the King's House. She'd heard her brother's bellow earlier, and so assumed the Council was finished for the day. Such things were not heard of in Rohan, where the King had absolute control over his lands, though she seemed to recall discussions between Theoden and trusted officers from her youth. Here in Gondor, aged noblemen with property and fortunes to protect quibbled over precedence and trade and whose warehouses ought to be repaired first. Eomer had expressed admiration for Faramir's patience with it all.

"Still, I believe he'd rather ride, or wander among the trees across the river," Eomer had confided in his sister. Eowyn was pleased about the regard that had sprung up between her brother and Lord Faramir. Should her hopes become real, she would be glad indeed.

She remembered Lothiriel's assertion that Faramir loved her, but Eowyn could not see it for herself. But she would cling to hope, as Faramir himself had taught her.

She went to the salon that the Fellowship seemed to favor, which opened onto a spacious balcony and a view of the City and Pelennor Fields. Sometimes, when she looked out on the field of battle, she felt a lingering chill, but she swiftly reminded herself that the Light had won the day, and there was naught to fear. This time, however, when she entered the room, her eyes were not drawn to the fields, or even the expected party of noble men, but to a lone figure seated on a divan, hunched over as if exhausted. She knew him immediately.

"My lord?" she asked, crossing to stand by Faramir.

"My lady Eowyn," Faramir greeted her, struggling to his feet. Eowyn fancied she could hear the weary groan of his joints as he stood.

"Sit, please," she forestalled his rising, seating herself next to him on the divan. Almost unconsciously, she took his hand in both of hers. Their eyes met, and she read the exhaustion upon his face. "You are tired, my friend. What has happened to so burden you?"

He smiled a little. "Politics," he growled, as if he were Eomer.

Eowyn's lips curved in response to his imitation of her brother. "I had thought all were glad to have the King returned to Gondor."

"As had I. Ever since the Ring was destroyed, I have worked to ensure that naught should impede Aragorn's coronation, and the restoration of the Crown, but today, a lord proposed that I continue ruling as Steward or…" He hesitated.

Eowyn was shocked by the idea. "You! Not that I doubt your abilities to rule well and fairly, my lord, but that they should prefer Steward over King? Or what else might they want?"

Faramir grimaced, and Eowyn could tell that he was loath to expose the foolishness of some people. "Or I take the Crown myself, being closest to Numenor in blood remaining in Gondor."

Eowyn felt horrified at the proposal. She knew well that Faramir resisted taking up the full mantle of Stewardship, for many reasons, not the least that his father had not named Faramir heir even after the loss of Boromir. But to suggest that Faramir be crowned king? "You could not. You can not."

Faramir looked at her steadily. "Not for the whole of Arda. Not even for - " He broke off, glancing away. "It matters little. You can well imagine the response Lord Alcar received to his proposal, not only from myself, Lord Aragorn, and my uncle, but from the majority of the Council and nobles of the kingdom. The Coronation will occur as planned tomorrow. Aragorn will be King." He glanced back at her, and then gently pressed her hands with his. "My lady, I must tell you how grateful I am for all that you have done here to prepare Minas Tirith for the return of the King."

Eowyn blushed at the clear admiration in his gaze. "My lord, I am glad to do what I can. It is my honor. For - For Gondor." She nearly expressed her admiration for him, revealing her work solely for his benefit, but she covered herself with modesty.

Yet a shadow crossed his face so swiftly, she could not discern its cause, and he gently withdrew his hand. "Yes. For Gondor," he murmured. "My lady, I - forgive me. Lord Aragorn bade me take some rest today, and as he is my healer as well as my King, I am minded to obey. If you would excuse me?" Faramir bowed formally to her, and as she nodded her acceptance, he departed.

Eowyn stared after him. Where had the awkwardness come from that now stood between them? Before the fall of Mordor, there had been only easy companionship. Even as the East brightened, and they knew their people freed from dark oppression, they had worked well together. Now, since the armies had returned, Faramir seemed to retreat from her behind a façade of formality. She could not think of any of her own actions that would drive Faramir away. She still saw the warm expression in his eyes when he looked at her, and she knew that she could not control her own expression around him. What could possibly make Faramir think he must maintain some distance? Perhaps Eomer had said something? Something about her previous regard for Lord Aragorn?

Realizing that it must be indeed that Faramir had some expectation of an understanding between Eowyn and Aragorn, she rose swiftly to her feet. She must find some way to disabuse him of that notion.

 

* * *

 

Though he had vowed to rest, Faramir did nothing of the sort. Instead, he paced his room for hours, annoying his cat and causing his staff to mutter in concern. When dinner approached, he sent his apologies to the King and his relatives, and instead took his meal alone in his chamber.

For Gondor, he reminded himself. Throughout his life, every action he had ever undertaken had been for Gondor. Even now, he planned to retain the position of Steward after all, seeing that his people needed that connection between the past traditions and the uncertain future, despite his own inclinations. He wanted nothing more that to go to his knees before Lady Eowyn and declare his love for her, and beg her to accept his suit, but he restrained himself, for Lady Eowyn was the ranking lady in the West now, and Lord Aragorn would need a wife. Faramir tried not to imagine too often a future wherein he bowed to King Aragorn and Queen Eowyn.

Faramir repeated Prince Legolas's words to himself. _There is a lady. He will be surprised._ And yet, it did not follow that even if the elven prince were correct, and a high elven lady appeared to claim Aragorn's hand, that Eowyn would immediately turn to Faramir. It was more likely that the lady, disappointed in her pursuit of Lord Aragorn, would return home to Rohan, and never return. He had watched Eowyn dance with Aragorn, and seen true affection between the two. What claim had Faramir then, but the claim of friendship?

Faramir laid himself down to sleep, his questions unresolved. The turmoil within him gave him little rest, and so it was when the door to his chambers opened in the small hours before dawn, he greeted Ergadol evenly.

"Do not you sleep, faithful Ergadol?"

"My lord, his highness Prince Legolas has come, and bid me wake you. He says he has need of your assistance."

Rising, Faramir dressed and went to meet the elf. Legolas's smile was sly as he insisted the Steward accompany him down the levels of the City, and once they were mounted, had Faramir order the Watch to prepare for visitors.

So it was that Faramir sat atop Sunny's back and watched the first delegation of Fair Folk to visit Minas Tirith in millenia ride over the rise of the Pelennor Fields down from the North, casting their own silvery glow in the predawn light, the soft chiming of bells accompanying their melodious voices as they sang songs of rejoicing while they rode.

Faramir could hear the thunder of his heartbeat in his ears as the delegation approached. At the head of the party rode a tall and stern elven lord, his hair as black as jet, his expression solemn. But beside him rode a vision that stole Faramir's very breath away. The elven lady had skin like alabaster, and her hair hung loose in a wave of darkness. The light of the stars shone in her eyes, and Faramir could not help his gasp. "Luthien Tinuviel!"

The lady's face broke into a wide, delighted smile, echoed by many around her, and even the stern lord's lips twitched with humor. "Nay," he said, his voice seeming to resound in both the ears and mind, "But her kinswoman."

"May I present Lord Elrond Halfelven, Lord of Rivendell, and his daughter, the Lady Arwen Undomiel. Here too are Lord Glorfindel and Lord Erestor, protector and seneschal of Rivendell. My lords, this is Faramir son of Denethor of the House of Hurin, Lord Steward of Gondor." Legolas made the introductions, and Faramir bowed as deeply as he could from Sunny's saddle.

"Welcome, my lords all, to Gondor," Faramir said, awed by the presence of such legendary beings.

"We thank you, Lord Faramir," Elrond replied. The party advanced to the City gates together. Faramir noted the guards of the City seemed as startled and awed as he at the sight of so many High Elven nobles. The party from Rivendell numbered thirty, lords and ladies both.

"My lords," Faramir began, mind whirling at how large and noble a party might be accommodated in the City still struggling to restore itself. "I am afraid we had no word of your coming. Lodgings –" He broke off, humiliated.

The Lady Arwen rode close, and laid her hand gently on his arm. "Lord Faramir," she said, her low voice warm. "We need but a few chambers to refresh ourselves from the ride. The day begins, and so you need not worry about accommodations now. In faith, we wish to maintain a certain amount of… secrecy." Her voice grew coy, and it was then Faramir realized that this was the lady who would claim Aragorn's hand, and become Queen over all of Gondor and Arnor. He returned her smile with a small one of his own, and her expression became one of delight. "I think we shall become friends, you and I?" she asked. "Now that we are co-conspirators, of course."

Faramir laughed, and Arwen laughed with him. Early risers throughout the seven levels of the City paused to watch their beloved Steward ride with the Elves, and felt their hearts lifted at the sight, and told others, whose hearts were lightened in turn.

The whole party dismounted at the tunnel to the Citadel, and the elven mounts docilely followed the mortal grooms. Faramir did not need to give orders for the horses, for he could tell by the spark in the stablemaster's eye that the steeds would be given the best. The lords and ladies of Rivendell with their baggage were conducted to the Steward's House. Faramir was proud to offer his own home, and the elves cheerfully doubled and tripled up in what chambers were available.

"It is an early start to the day, I know," Faramir told Ergadol, "but we must do what we can." The light grew in the East, and Faramir still managed to watch the dawn, despite his unexpected guests. As he stood in the courtyard watching the sunrise over the no longer ominous eastern mountains, he felt a presence join him.

"It has been many ages of Man," Lord Elrond observed quietly, "since I have at peace watched the sun rise in the East."

Faramir nodded. "Daily I rejoice to see it."

Elrond smiled. "I too." He glanced at the Steward. "You are in pain." He stated with a healer's concern.

Faramir bowed slightly. "It will heal." He hesitated, then added, "I will heal."

The elven lord watched him a moment, then laid a hand on Faramir's shoulder in fatherly benediction.

 

* * *

 

Eowyn bathed and washed her hair thoroughly, trying to enjoy the luxurious facilities. Her suite in the King's House included a bathing chamber with a tub built into the floor, large enough for her to float in it. Clever pipes brought water from the mountainside, through hypocausts for heating, and into individual chambers. In Edoras, baths were laborious affairs, requiring the heating of water in kettles over fires and freestanding tubs of copper.

 

Last night, she had prepared herself well, choosing a gown of green and white, and eagerly attending the evening meal, only to learn that Lord Faramir had shunned the company by remaining away. She'd thought to go to him, but Lord Aragorn had suggested that the Steward be left alone to get some rest. He expressed concern that Lord Faramir was not healing as rapidly as he'd hoped, and carefully interrogated Eowyn as to her health as well.

Aragorn had been quite carried away with the idea that both Eowyn and Lord Faramir were in need of his skills as a healer, but Eowyn insisted that she was well, and Imrahil managed to convince Aragorn that Faramir mended also. Eowyn could tell by the stiffness with which both Imrahil and his children greeted Aragorn's inquiries, that such discussions were not meet at the dinner table. The Gondorians had a particular sort of manners that Eowyn found highly constraining, but at the same time, she had come to understand them well. Certainly, implying that the Steward was somehow in ill health was not wise when so many Gondorian nobles were present and might overhear.

Eowyn sensed that Aragorn would need a great deal of help in adjusting to Court in Minas Tirith. She heard at the table that Faramir had agreed to stay on as Steward indefinitely, and she wondered what such a concession might have cost him. She mourned the merry man who'd lifted her into the air and spun her about after the Ring was destroyed. As the days progressed, she saw less and less of that man, and more of the grim Captain who'd plotted evacuations and contingency plans.

Eowyn had hoped that she could find time with Faramir that evening, to somehow let him know that no understanding stood between herself and Aragorn. But the table was lively, and with Lord Frodo at last joining the Fellowship in the King's House, a great number of stories were told, and conversations lively with the expectation of the next day's events. All four of the Hobbits took pains to thank her for ordering garments made for them. Eowyn found herself truly enchanted by Lord Frodo Ringbearer. There was something about him that reminded her greatly of both Prince Legolas and Lord Faramir. Indeed, Frodo had inquired after Faramir as well.

"He showed sense in the end," Sam said at one point in the conversation regarding the hobbits' capture by the Ithilien Rangers.

Frodo shook his head. "He was in a bad situation. The Ring was speaking to him, and though he did not once try to claim it from me by force, between the Ring's pressure and the invasion of Osgiliath, what else could he do?"

Aragorn had grown concerned at their tale. "Faramir did not try to bring you further West than Osgiliath?"

"It was there the Nazgul almost took Mr. Frodo, and after, Captain Faramir had seen how things really stood, and he emptied his own kit to give us travel rations, and showed us the safe way out of the ruins." Sam explained.

"One of his men said Faramir's life was forfeit for releasing us," Frodo said quietly.

"It was," Gandalf interjected. "And he nearly lost it on that damned suicide charge. But that is not a subject for so many ears," he intoned, and so directed the conversations to other topics.

After that meal, Eowyn had spent a restless night. It seemed to her as if the constraints that had so burdened her were very similar to all that Faramir had gone through, and her heart ached for him, to see that even now when the whole world rejoiced, he found little freedom and less pleasure.

Leaving her bath behind, Eowyn dressed her hair with the assistance of faithful Tayriel, and prepared for the day's occasion. The golden gown that Faramir had commissioned for her suited her very well, being almost the exact shade of her hair. Arraigned in gold, with borrowed jewels, she joined her brother and the rest of the party in the main foyer of the King's House. Eomer complimented her broadly, his attention split between her and Imrahil's daughter, well turned out in a wine colored gown. Lothiriel's eyes were merry as she teased Eomer, and she linked arms with Eowyn in a friendly fashion. Aragorn was already gone to prepare, for the ritual of King making took place in the Great Hall. The actual crowning would take place on the steps of the Great Hall, and already, hundreds of citizens made their way to the courtyard to witness the historic event.

As they make their way into the sunlight, Eowyn looked especially for Faramir. When she found him, she gasped in breathless appreciation. He appeared even taller, russet hair glowing, standing proudly in his silver armor, the engraving of the White Tree sparkling in the sun. She saw that over his arm, he carried the blue mantle. The garments she had ordered for him greatly became him. Giving a final order to a guard, he turned and approached them.

"My Lady Eowyn," he greeted her gravely.

"My Lord Faramir," she replied softly, curtsying.

For a moment, neither said more, and she waited patiently. To her, his eyes were the whole of Arda in that moment, and she could dwell there happily for all her life, should he let her.

Finally, he said, "You outshine the sun," in a wondering voice, as if he could not believe what he saw, and she colored in pleasure at his obvious admiration. "My lady," he said, "this mantle - it was a gift to you."

"I do know this, and thank you. And as it is mine, I do wish for you to wear it," she explained quietly. "If - if it would please you to do so." This formality of the Court in Minas Tirith would not allow her to say what she wished. In Edoras, she might be able to speak plainly of her desires, and learn at last the truth of his feelings for her. But here, she could only hope he'd understand the subtle signal of her action.

To her delight, it seemed he did, for he immediately donned the mantle. Unthinkingly, she stepped forward to help him with the clasps that held the fabric in place, and for a moment, her fingers lingered on the metal of his breastplate.

Faramir took both her hands in his, and placed gentle kisses on the backs of each, the touch of his lips sending warmth through her, just as every touch before had done. She longed to embrace him then, but could not, not so publicly, with no understanding between them. But at last, she thought she saw more in his eyes than ever before. A light grew there, and Eowyn recognized her merry companion returning at last.

 

* * *

 

When Eowyn explained that she'd sent the mantle to him, in expectation that he would wear it and as a token of her regard, Faramir quickly threw the mantle over his shoulders, for he knew of the tradition in Rohan. He'd read of this symbol of regard, often described as 'cloaked in favor' in translated lays of her country. He dared to hope again as she stepped closer, affixing the clasps of the mantle. He took her hands, pressing his lips to each. Her eyes widened, and he thought he read something of her heart and mind in them. If he was correct, and he had earned favor in her heart, then he would not wait another day. But still he hesitated, wondering what would be her reaction, when the elven lady was revealed. 

Almost on the heels of that thought, the guard trumpeted the clarion of the King, and the doors of the Hall opened. The crowd jostled for viewing positions, though both Faramir's and Lady Eowyn's rank kept them unmolested along the corridor the guards maintained. Aragorn was presented to the populace, and despite his kingly demeanor, Faramir fancied he could see some desperate idea on the man's face. It was too late, Faramir thought at Lord Aragorn. Too many people filled the Courtyard should Aragorn attempt to make his escape.

A smile at that thought played about Faramir's lips as he watched Gandalf recite the names of Aragorn's descent down from Elendil, and he felt Eowyn press against him as the crowd drew close. He glanced down at her, and when she saw his smile, she bestowed him one of her own, gladdening his heart even further. In the presence of the Elves in the early dawn, Faramir had found joy again in his heart at the coming of the King, and in expectation of the future. He'd been offered comfort for his losses by Lord Elrond, and had come to know the sense and humor of his future queen. Now at last, he saw the Crown Restored, the King Returned, and felt the beginning of the renewal of Gondor.

At last, Gandalf intoned, "Now are come the days of the King. May they be blessed." Aragorn seemed to hesitate, then turned to face the acclaim of his people. Faramir found himself cheering as loudly as the rest, applauding. Aragorn sang the words of Elendil, reaffirming the lordship of Numenor, before descending the stairs to greet the populace. Faramir bowed formally to his King, pleased to have his hopes at last come true.

He watched, a foolish smile crossing his face, when the Lady Arwen was revealed, and Aragorn's unabashed embrace of the lady drew laughs and cheers from many. Quickly, Faramir turned to Eowyn, to judge her reaction.

 

* * *

 

Eowyn curtsied as Lord Aragorn, King now, passed them with a formal nod. She wondered that he could be so calm, this scruffy northerner she recalled as seemingly always in need of a good scrubbing. She watched him acknowledge her brother Eomer-King with an equal nod, giving Rohan courtesy as a fellow sovereign, not lesser. This pleased her, for the Ruling Stewards had never let Rohan forget that their lands were the gift of Gondor. Now Rohan stood on equal footing. 

She was startled to see the appearance of so many Elven folk, and then watched amazed as Aragorn enthusiastically embraced a woman of such remarkable beauty, she knew it could be none other than his presumably lost lady. She clearly did not sail away into the West, and the expression of relief and joy upon Aragorn's face easily told the tale of his longing.

Eowyn smiled, laughed even, to see Aragorn so happy, with no more thought of her own past fancies beyond her pleasure at seeing a good friend made joyous. She looked up at Faramir, to see his thought on this his future queen, and was unsurprised to find his expression knowledgeable, as if he expected this display. His eyes met hers, and she recognized the questioning expression in them. Faramir seemed to seek something in her, and so Eowyn held his gaze unwavering, longing for him. She knew then that he did care for her, for his expression softened, loosing its intense light in favor of that warm regard she'd come to expect, and now knew to be the glow of his love for her. She read the promise in his eyes, and she nodded in acceptance of his wordless promise.

They reached for each other's hand at the same moment, fingers entwining just as they had on the balcony of the Houses of Healing, when the world stood upon a knife's edge.

 

* * *

 

Later, Faramir could hardly remember how they were separated. Eomer came forward to speak to Eowyn after all honor had been given to the four brave Halflings. One conversation led to another, then celebration, and soon, Faramir was ordering the guards to clear way for the King, who took up his seat in the Great Hall, Arwen by his side, that he might give his first court. 

Lord Hurin called the rolls, and one by one, notables were honored. Gandalf, then Legolas and Gimli, were honored with titles. Rohan was proclaimed Gondor's closest ally, and Eomer could not pass without joking about herds and breeding fees that made many laugh.

So it was with amazement that Faramir heard his own name called. Confused, he stepped away from his place beside the Black Chair of the Stewards and knelt before his King.

"Faramir son of Denethor. The White Rod of the Stewards is yours and in the keeping of the Line of Hurin for all time," Aragorn announced, and Hurin handed Faramir the formal sigil of the Stewardship as the people cheered. Aragorn raised his hand for silence. "Moreover, in recognition of the service of your family, and in acknowledgement of the service you yourself have given Gondor for the whole of your life, it is our wish to bestow the Province of Ithilien upon you, to be your princedom, for yourself and your children forevermore."

Faramir stared up at the King, shocked. Hurin produced a circlet of hammered mithril, a large opal representing the moon of the province's name centered upon it. He set the circlet upon Faramir's brow, who took little notice as he tried to read the intentions in his King's eyes.

Aragorn smiled broadly, all formality set aside. "I hope you'll settle in the hills of Emyn Arnen? It's near enough that should I call for you, you might come quickly?" A plaintive note crept into his voice, subtle enough to be overlooked, though Faramir caught it easily.

Faramir smiled then, in reassurance to Aragorn. In receiving Ithilien, Faramir had received not only the land that he'd loved and fought for and bled over for most of his life, but as Ithilien was the largest province of Gondor, he'd been given permanent rank second only to the King, apart from his service as Steward. Rising, he heard Hurin call for accolades for the new Prince, but his eyes only sought Eowyn's. Her smiling approval upon him, Faramir accepted this new duty with joy, and with a plan in his mind for the future.

When the Court was finished, and all made their way to feasting and celebration, Faramir sought out Eowyn as swiftly as he could. All the noble folk honored to dine with the King made their way to the hall. Finally, Faramir found Eowyn in the company of her brother and Prince Imrahil.

"My lady Eowyn," he bowed before her.

With a sweet smile, she cursied low. "My lord Prince."

He paused, at a loss over the new title. His hesitation garnered laughter from his friends and family, and instead of finding the opportunity to speak privately with Eowyn, Faramir was drawn into their party, and led in to the hall to be seated among them. Thwarted, he looked at Eowyn, and when her eyes met his, he could read clearly at last her regard for him, and her understanding of his intentions. Relieved, Faramir lifted his glass and drank. Tonight was a night for celebration, and very soon, that which he wished for the most might be his.


	6. Chapter 6

The feasting and merriment lasted into the evening, when Faramir at last managed to separate himself from both family and well-wishers and go in search of Lady Eowyn. He'd lost sight of her once the dancing had begun, and though music still played in the hall, he could not find her. Faramir intended to dance with her, if naught else, before the evening was finished.

As he roamed the hall, his cousin Princess Lothiriel accosted him. "Faramir! Dearest, congratulations." She placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Lothiriel," he kissed her hand. "I'm sorry, but I cannot dance with you right now." He paid little attention to his cousin, still looking for sign of Eowyn.

Had he looked, he might have noticed the sly smile on Lothiriel's face. "No indeed, cousin, I have no wish to dance with you. Rather, I suggest you go take some air. Perhaps, out the side corridor? To the garden?" Her tone became somewhat forceful.

Faramir looked down at her, finally noticing her expression. With a smile, he gave her a swift embrace. "Thank you, darling Lothiriel," he whispered, and followed her suggestions with alacrity.

Once in the garden, he found Eowyn quickly, her gown glowing in the fading light. He hurried towards her without hesitation. For too long he had waited, waited for good fortune to come to him, waited for the King, waited for life. Now he defied the past and made his way to Lady Eowyn with all the determination of a hunter. She turned to meet him, a gentle smile upon her face. Faramir again felt as if he could not breathe properly in her presence. She filled his world, and he would not have it aught else.

When he reached her, she held out her hand, which he took eagerly. "My lady," he murmured. Rather than kiss the back of her hand, as was common, he gently turned it over, and placed a heated kiss upon her palm, as a lover would.

 

* * *

 

Eowyn gasped as he pressed a kiss to her palm. Never had any man done such a thing to her, and warm pressure combined with the expression of ardor in his eyes caused her pulse to race. 

"Prince Faramir," she said softly.

"Are we not friends, my lady, that you would address me so formally?" he said, his tone light. He did not release her hand.

"Faramir," she sighed, and he smiled again before placing another kiss upon her palm. "Would you not show me the same affection? Or must your lessons resume?"

"With you as my teacher, I would spend my life in the classroom," Faramir answered.

Eowyn could not school her expression. Her cheeks became enflamed, and she giggled nervously. She could not understand her own reactions. She loved him, oh how she loved him. It made her foolish, quite unlike herself. She would do anything, and proudly, to have this man as her own.

So it was with soaring joy she watched him kneel before her.

 

* * *

 

Faramir knelt, taking her other hand and pressing both her hands between his own. "Eowyn," he said, lingering over her name, delighted with the way she blushed, with the light shining in her eyes. Gone forever was the cold and sorrowful maiden who'd demanded employment of him in the Houses of Healing. The proud and magnificent woman before him shone like the sun, and he would bask in her light all of his days if he could.

 

"Beautiful, brilliant, bravest Eowyn," he began, and her giggles at his rough poetry made him smile in turn. "I beg you, accept my suit for your hand," and at that he could not but pause to place kisses on both of her hands, "and if you would, please consent to be my wife, my very life, forever? For I love you more than all the stars, more than Gondor, more than even my own existence, which I would lay at your feet to command as you will."

"Oh, dearest Faramir! Of course, of course I accept your suit, and would have you for my husband gladly!" she cried, and he quickly rose to embrace her. She filled his arms, clinging to him in turn, and he breathed deep of the sweet scent of her hair, enjoying the feel of her strong and supple frame. He pulled back slightly, enough that she might turn her face up to him, and when she did, Faramir bent to claim her lips in their first kiss. Eagerly she returned it, as they rejoiced in one another under the setting sun.

Finally parting, he smiled broadly at her. Suddenly, he lifted her and spun her around, just as he had when the Ring was destroyed, and she shouted with laughter. They embraced again, kissing and holding one another, overwhelmed with their happiness.

 

* * *

 

Eowyn laid her head against Faramir's shoulder, reveling in the moment. He loved her! She never knew such joy in her life. Every experience she'd had until this moment paled in comparison. 

Unable to resist, she said, "Are you sure, my lord, that you would take a wild shieldmaiden of Rohan to be your bride?"

Faramir's arms tightened around her. "I would have no other lady upon Arda," he declared.

Eowyn laughed, but squirmed in his arms, and he released her only to again take her hands in his. She stared up at him, nervous again. "My lord," she began, but hesitated. Honor and honesty demanded she be truthful with him, that he not be deceived in her. "Faramir, I – I cannot cook."

He pretended to take her confession seriously, a twinkle in his eye. "Neither can I."

"I cannot sew well either," she confessed.

"Nor can I. Shall we be naked and starving in Ithilien, do you think?"

"Be serious," she scolded, withdrawing her hand and striking him lightly, as she did so frequently with Eomer.

Faramir laughed, recapturing her hand. "We will hire cooks, we will hire seamstresses. What do you care for such things?"

"But, I will not be a proper wife for you."

 

* * *

 

"Eowyn." Alarmed by her protestations, Faramir reached out to cup her chin, raising her face so that her eyes met his. "I love you. I love your laugh, your stubbornness, your hair, your smile. I love your eyes, your freckles," and here she giggled again, "your strength, and your bitten nails. I love that you can order a troop of soldiers as easily as a company of servants. I love that you bear arms, and I look forward to sparring with you." 

Eowyn gasped when she realized he would not deny her the sword. Faramir smiled, seeing her bewilderment. "I would not have you any other way," he continued, "but who you are. And in faith, I am no easy person either."

"You are all that is good and noble." Eowyn insisted stoutly.

Faramir chuckled. "I'm just as stubborn as you. I work too hard, and forget to eat. I am often too serious. I will go to the Archives and forget the time and make you angry because I will miss outings. I have no idea how to run a household, and will therefore make trouble with the servants." This time, she laughed outright at him. "In truth my lady, you will have a very difficult time making a decent husband out of me."

To his delight, she wrapped her arms around him, nestling into his shoulder. "I would not have you any other way," she whispered.

He held her close for a moment longer, then said, "Now, I do need your advice on a delicate matter, my lady."

"What would that be?" she asked, seemingly surprised at his change in subject.

"How to announce our intention to wed to the King your brother." The mock trepidation in his voice made her laugh once more.

 

* * *

 

Eowyn's heart swelled with joy at the return of Faramir's humorous side. She loved his cleverness, his quick wit. Such quickness of mind was unusual in Rohan, a country where men gained more renown for strength of arm than strength of mind. Eowyn always found intelligent men more interesting than the common boastful Rider. Even her own brother sometimes had exasperated her. She wished wistfully that her cousin Theodred might still be with them, to partake in her joy, and to join in the celebration. Theodred would have enjoyed Faramir's company a great deal.

 

Smiling at her beloved, she said, "As Eomer is now the male head of my family, you will of course seek his approval." She could not help teasing Faramir in turn.

He nodded. "Think you I will have to best him in combat?"

Eowyn laughed. "Perhaps. He might make allowances, as you are not accustomed to fighting mounted."

Faramir laughed as well and held her close. "My Eowyn. You make my heart lighter than it has ever been," he whispered into her hair, his breath warm against her ear. He placed a series of kisses along her cheek, down to her lips, claiming them in tender caresses. Finally releasing her, he said, "Come. We should return to the hall. If I am to meet my doom, I would rather it were sooner than later."

Eowyn took his arm, smoothing her skirts with her right hand. She looked forward to their life together with delight.

 

* * *

 

Faramir could scarce believe his own good fortune as they returned to the hall. Beside him walked the fairest lady upon Arda, a woman of highest renown, and more, she was intelligent and brave and full of humor and light. He could not have imagined a more perfect lady for him, and to have found her amid such darkness and despair, to have had her support and to have supported her and seen her blossom in turn, restored his faith in the Valar and the goodness of the world.

As they entered the hall, they made a striking couple. Faramir had discarded his breastplate before dinner, and so his midnight surcote provided a background to Eowyn's golden attire. To his mind, his lady glowed in the light of a thousand candles and torches, and he was only too proud to have the honor of standing at her side.

Faramir's Dol Amroth relations were the first to deduce his new circumstances. Lothiriel clearly had been watching for them, for almost immediately Faramir saw her, hands over her mouth to no doubt contain a squeal of delight. The princess swiftly and indelicately elbowed her brother, who turned and spied the change in his cousin's countenance quickly. Amrothos whispered to his father, and when Prince Imrahil turned to smile at his nephew, Faramir thought he saw tears in his uncle's eyes. The prince always insisted that Faramir most closely resembled his late sister, Faramir's mother Finduilas. He clearly recalled her in this moment.

Without pause, Faramir led Eowyn up to the high table, where the Kings and Lords of the Eldar were seated. Eowyn kept pace, and from the subtle pressure she gave his arm, he knew she approved of this direct approach.

Lady Arwen, the future Queen, acknowledged them first. Her eyes quickly took in the closeness between Faramir and Eowyn, and Arwen began to smile broadly, glad for her new friend the Lord Steward, and her eager look to Eowyn foretold her expectations of fast friendship with the Lady of Rohan.

King Aragorn felt his lady's distraction from the current conversation almost instantly, as did Lord Elrond and Prince Legolas, who could not contain his grin. Aragorn's eyes widened as he took in the image of Eowyn and Faramir, and he too wore an expression of joy when both Eowyn and Faramir nodded to him in response to his silent question.

It was only after a moment that King Eomer finally noted his companions' change in attention, and he turned quickly to be confronted by his sister and the Lord Steward.

Before Eomer could speak, Faramir addressed him. "My Lord King, Eomer Eomundsson." His deep voice cut through a number of conversations, and many nobles around them fell quiet to listen. "Your Majesty, I, Faramir son of Denethor, Lord Steward of Gondor, have asked your sister, Lady Eowyn Eomundsdaughter, Wraithsbane, to be my bride, and she has accepted me."

The ensuing silence was profound.

 

* * *

 

Eowyn found herself holding her breath, suddenly uncertain as to her brother's reaction. She knew that Eomer had come to like and respect Faramir since the hosts had returned to Minas Tirith, but friendship between warriors could be swiftly set aside if Eomer thought his sister's honor was compromised. For years, she had protected her family from Eomer's temper by never revealing the worm Grima's attentions to her. And now, her brother's sudden stillness had Eowyn very worried. 

All those around seemed in suspense as well. King Aragorn stared at his brother ruler, with Lady Arwen clinging to his arm. The Elven lady seemed ready to leap to Eowyn and Faramir's defense, should need be. Prince Imrahil frowned, his hand drifting to a non-existent sword, his expression one of concern. Lords Elrond and Erestor merely watched politely, intrigued, whilst Prince Legolas bore an expression of anticipation.

"Lord Steward," Eomer began quietly, and Eowyn inhaled quickly, worried by his tone. "I note that you neither ask for my permission, nor my blessing, to wed my sister, the Lady of Rohan."

Faramir's gentle smile contained a hint of irony. "In faith, my lord, we do ask for your blessing. As for permission," and Eowyn saw his smile subtly widen, and the familiar glint of humor enter Faramir's eyes, "Would any dare gainsay the Lady Wraithslayer? Even you, your majesty, especially you, must see the risk in denying the lady permission to follow her own inclination."

It was a daring jest, for Eomer had been greatly wroth with Eowyn for riding with the Rohirrim in disguise. Her brother was not often teased; in fact few besides Eowyn herself and their cousin Theodred had dared to tease the doughty Marshall. For one moment, Eowyn feared that Faramir had greatly misjudged her brother, and her brother did not see the jest in Faramir's expression, for Eomer's face seemed carved of the very granite of the Merethond.

But then the sun rose in Eomer's face, and his broad smile encompassed all, as he declared, "You are too right, my Lord Steward, and if my sister has accepted you, there is little I could do to prevent it, not that I would ever try. Indeed, I wish you luck, that you may have a better time managing her than I did!"

"Eomer!" Eowyn cried in the outraged tone of a much-put-upon sister, as the assembly around them laughed. But Eomer swiftly came forward to embrace her, his strong arms conveying his pride and joy by their tight hold.

"My beloved sister. Do you love him?" Eomer asked quietly amongst the cacophony of congratulations.

"More than my life," she replied most seriously.

Eomer sighed, and Eowyn saw to her amazement tears in her brother's eyes. "Then I could not have parted with you for any less worthy. He is a fine man, and will make you a fine husband. My sister," and here he paused to kiss her forehead, "I give you my blessing, with joy."

Eowyn embraced her brother, then released him. Eomer turned to Faramir. "Cherish her, Lord Steward" he ordered.

Faramir bowed formally to Eomer, his hand over his heart. "I will, my lord."

Eomer then embraced Faramir as well, though perhaps with more force than strictly necessary, Eowyn judged from Faramir's slightly pained expression. "I am proud to call you brother," Eomer declared in Rohirric, the formal acceptance of a proposal.

"Thank you, my lord brother," Faramir answered in Rohirric as well, delighting Eowyn.

Soon everyone wanted a moment to speak with the newly betrothed couple. Eowyn found herself enthusiastically greeted by Lothiriel, who nearly knocked several nobles aside to get to Eowyn.

"Now we shall be cousins in truth!" the princess declared, almost bouncing with joy. Amrothos kissed her hand, expressing his wishes of joy to her. Prince Imrahil embraced her and called her 'niece.' Many of the elven nobles present spoke to her in Sindarin, words she assumed were blessings and congratulations. Legolas in particular said something with a sly expression, earning himself a nudge from Lord Glorfindel. Eowyn later learned that the expression was a wish for fruitfulness, and one more appropriate to the wedding morn. Certainly when Legolas said the same to Faramir, her betrothed blushed, and Aragorn roared with laughter.

When Aragorn approached her, Eowyn felt suddenly shy. Before he could speak, though, Arwen rushed up. "My lady Eowyn!" the elven lady smiled, and placed kisses on both of Eowyn's cheeks. "My sincerest congratulations to you. I hope in time we will become good friends?" When Eowyn nodded, Arwen's smile became impish. "We shall have to meet to spar regularly, and scandalize this staid court."

"You study the ways of the sword as well?" Eowyn asked, amazed. No wonder Aragorn had not expressed any surprise in Edoras at Eowyn's skills.

"I do, and am eager to keep up my skills," Arwen replied. "We elves have never restricted any ways to one gender or the other. Many of our males are skilled weavers, and many of our women bear arms. We shall practice together, you and I."

Eowyn agreed, and the elven lady made way for her own intended. Aragorn gently embraced Eowyn, and placed a fatherly kiss upon her brow.

"Wish me joy, my liege?" Eowyn asked.

"I have wished you joy from the moment I met you," Aragorn replied kindly. Then, in lowered voice, he added, "I knew I was not for you, and you not for me. There was one man truly worthy of you on this earth, and I rejoice that you have found him."

Eowyn smiled, understanding. She glanced over at Faramir, who seemed to be holding his own amongst the sea of Gondorian nobility surrounding him. He met her eyes, and his smile was only for her.

"I have found him, and I am only glad that _I_ am worthy of _him._ " Eowyn said to Aragorn, who nodded in turn.

"Then we understand each other well," he replied, with a glance at Arwen. "I wonder, what blessing the gods bestowed, that we should be so fortunate?"

Eowyn laughed. "I know not, but will thank them daily for it!"

 

* * *

 

Faramir edged himself free of the group of nobles. Certainly, he noted some sour tones amongst the fathers of eligible daughters, his political mind never quite at rest, but Faramir chose to gracefully ignore any implication of dissatisfaction. He had always refused to marry for advancement, and now had the great good fortune to marry for love. 

He reclaimed Eowyn's hand as she spoke with his cousins. She bestowed a smile of such happiness upon him, that Faramir again felt breathless, somehow unable to fully appreciate his own luck. Eowyn nestled against his side, as eager for contact as he.

"Are you well?" he asked her quietly.

"I am, though I think I would enjoy some quiet," she replied.

"I too would enjoy that," he said, and they left the hall. It took some doing, to politely avoid conversation, but soon, they were alone in the courtyard of the White Tree.

Faramir led Eowyn to the wall overlooking the City and the fields of the Pelennor. Beyond the fields they could see the river Anduin. Night had fully fallen, and a full moon cast a sparkling light over the river. Thousands of stars twinkled in the velvet darkness above.

Eowyn sighed and leaned against Faramir. He gladly wrapped his arms around her, drawing the starry cloak he wore about them both. Together they looked across Gondor to Ithilien, where they would make their home together.

"Eowyn?" he whispered.

"Yes?"

"I love you," Faramir said, looking down into her eyes. He felt surprised to realize that he had not yet said such simple words to his lady.

Eowyn's eyes glowed with happiness. "I love you too," she replied, her voice thick with tears of joy.

Faramir bent his head to claim Eowyn's lips in a heated kiss, sealing their love there atop the walls of Minas Tirith.

 

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> *AN: the word ‘pen’ has been used for ‘writing implement’ for centuries. The word originates from MiddleEnglish and before that Latin.
> 
> *AN: Sharp-eyed viewers of the ROTK:EE will notice that it appears that Eowyn is watching Aragorn and the armies riding out when she and Faramir converse, and then embrace, in the Houses of Healing. Well, that's just a wee bit too quick of a courtship, don't you think? I've pushed the scene where they embrace back a bit, working a three-day lag between the army leaving Minas Tirith and the battle at the Black Gate.


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